


byun baekhyun likes being naked

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Artists, Byun Baekhyun & Park Chanyeol are Best Friends, Byun Baekhyun is in Love, Cute, First Kiss, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Nude Modeling, Roommates, Surprise Kissing, baekhyun is annoying, baekhyun is baby, but it's brief i swear, chanyeol is shy and dumb, chanyeol is way too awkward to function, jongdae ships chanbaek like crazy, not to be taken seriously lmao, relatable, xiuchen are couple goals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: byun baekhyun has had a crush on his best friend and roommate, park chanyeol, for probably ages.but chanyeol is a little (fuck no, extremely) slow.





	1. chanyeol gets a kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was searching sum files and wOw i wrote this shit like ages ago and im too exhausted to check if it's any good so i'll leave that for you guys to see xx
> 
> enjoy uwu don't expect much lmfao

“Dimples. I’m depressed.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Baekhyun whined. He hugged Chanyeol’s pillow tightly to his chest, bottom lip stuck out and head lowered in false petulance. The other, sitting just a few inches away, was bent forward, inspecting the opened sketchbook resting on his crossed legs. There was an interlude of silence for a while that Chanyeol cherished dearly, while it lasted, but—evidently—it had no plans on sticking around for long.

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not. Depressed.”

Baekhyun’s rebuttal was no more than a sullen _“humph”_. There was then another brief pause, during which Chanyeol could concentrate again for a second until Baekhyun decided to shove his leg right in front of his face, his foot between Chanyeol’s eyes and his sketchbook. Exasperated, Chanyeol swatted his leg away, muttering something under his breath and rubbing at his ear in frustration before picking up his pencil once more to alter the portrait he declared far from finished—even though he’d been at it for the past two and a half hours and was slowly finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Occasionally, the portrait swayed from side to side, the woman inside clinging to the edges of the page and crying out helplessly, her body surging and slamming against the sides. Chanyeol only watched, pencil dangling uselessly in his hand. Meanwhile, Baekhyun chose ignorantly to take no notice of the other’s distress; only continued his pathetic lamenting an octave of desperation higher: “Dimples, I promise I’m actually not exaggerating this time.”

“‘This time’.”

“It hurts, man, it really hurts. It’s … a hole, in my stomach, and I’m just, empty—I feel sad and empty and _depressed_ , Dimples.” He paused, possibly hoping to deliver with more of a dramatic effect. As if the whole façade wasn’t already just a mess of melodrama and pure bullshit anyway. But Chanyeol had to give it to him: his acting was getting better. Sort of. “I mean it—I don’t think I’ll ever get over him.”

Chanyeol, wincing from a distant hammering in his skull, examined the page in front of him closely, with a wrinkled nose. He picked up his pencil then put it back down. Absentmindedly, he answered: “You will.”

“I won’t. He—was special, he was … he was, different from everybody else.”

“He wasn’t.” There was no need to roll his eyes.

Baekhyun scoffed. Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. “And you’re so sure, because?”

Deciding it needed to be a bit darker, Chanyeol went over one section of the page with a blunter pencil. It wasn’t perfect, but at least now not all of what he’d drawn was the same shade of light grey. Resisting the urge to crumple it up and start over, he forced himself to look up, remembering the conversation. Baekhyun’s eyes were on him, attentive, challenging; two beady, dusky pupils hidden beneath long lashes and lowered eyelids.

Now both Chanyeol’s eyebrows shot up; leapt up his forehead. “Because,” he began, tautly. “You say that about every guy you screw—”

“That’s not a very nice way of putting it.” His lips puckered.

“—and then, three days after you’ve gotten bored of him, guess who I find, I find screwing some other p- _prostitute_ in my living room?”

Baekhyun put up one long finger, pale enough to be translucent. “ _Our_ living room, Dimples,” he corrected the other matter-of-factly, stinking of shit and pomposity, as always. But he didn’t deny what Chanyeol had said, and both had already figured he wasn’t going to.

The long(ish) silence from before returned, hollow and tranquil, so that Chanyeol struggled less to focus on his assignment. Stuff like this wasn’t usually issued the same week it was due to be handed in, but this was apparently an “exception”. That word worried Chanyeol, worried him a lot, and these days he was feeling increasingly disappointed with his artwork and becoming—in Baekhyun’s words at least—a “perfectionist”. He’d been getting so little sleep now that he whittled his nights away scribbling endlessly on paper and shading and smoothing and skimming until the sky blued and blackened and adopted the stains of sunrise; simmering hues of reds, oranges, mulberry and peach. His fingers throbbed and eyes burned. His head was constantly pounding and constantly pleading for rest, screaming in agony. And maybe the shit was right, but he had to get it absolutely perfect, didn’t he? And thus, to do that, his nights and health were to be sacrificed: and that, he decided, was definitely a reasonable conclusion.

Over his shoulder, he felt Baekhyun edge closer. He was always curious about Chanyeol’s work: before, it was relentless interrogations of—“Are you drawing me?” or “Been drawing me lately?” or “You thinking about drawing me soon?” but now it was more silent observing, which Chanyeol blushed at sometimes but was always pleased about for some reason, until Baekhyun started telling him what he was drawing was “fine” and spewing futile comments like, “Stop being such a perfectionist, you’ve gone over that part, like, a billion times already, just give it a rest…”

“You don’t understand,” Chanyeol would huff. “Can’t you see that it’s too light here? Here, this spot, the one that I’m pointing at! Can’t you—can’t you _see_?” And when Baekhyun only shook his head, an expression of perplexity and some remnants of pity printed on his face, Chanyeol always gritted his teeth and turned away from him, resuming his drawing without troubling himself with fruitless endeavours to explain his struggles further.

Now Baekhyun was close enough that Chanyeol could hear his breathing clearly—gentle, slow and measured. His chin rested on Chanyeol’s shoulder, so that Chanyeol had to try his hardest to disguise the flush that blossomed and painted his cheeks. He bowed his head, despite the fact his neck already ached, tilting his face away as much as he could muster.

He thought that Baekhyun noticed—but he didn’t, thankfully, point it out.

Several more seconds of stillness, then:

“Dimples,” he started up once more, and his shrill tone alone reinforced his inability not to prattle endlessly about ridiculous crap. And for this reason Chanyeol didn’t bother to reply. Nonetheless, he continued, the chatterbox, his jaw bobbing up and down on Chanyeol’s shoulder as he bleated: “Dimples, when will you ever love me?”

“Please be quiet,” the art student mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Baekhyun stopped for a second, contemplated … and it didn’t take long before a huge bold grin stretched onto his face. In this fleeting instant of hesitation, Chanyeol’s head cocked to the side, and thus now he beheld him in all his glory. It made him look more like a puppy, this (dare he admit it) adorable grin—when his eyes brightened and shimmered, two copper coins glazed with honey; when his hair appeared curlier, bouncing atop his head as he flopped like a fish on the bed, the tuffs a darkening hue of caramel blonde; and his smile, his grin, lighting up his entire face effortlessly. Baekhyun, Chanyeol thought, wasn’t only a life model because of his impressive … _stomach_ (and below that)—but also because of his carefully sculpted jawline, and chiselled face yet otherwise soft and fine facets; his long and perfect locks, his stunning eyes, his creamy complexion, slightly chubby cheeks and above all his sparkling smile. He was smaller than the rest of the life models, even the girls—but his face made up for it. His face, totally, made up for it.

His beam never dimming, he leaned closer to Chanyeol, who edged further away, tearing his eyes off of his friend’s face to regain his focus where it was best needed. Playful, the boy cooed into his ear, “Remember when we first met?”

Chanyeol groaned. “Baekhyun, I swear to God—”

“You made such a goddamn mess walking into the classroom, and holy crap it was _so_ cute.”

“Baek—”

“And you couldn’t even look me in the eye—I was the first model up, remember?—you were so shy and your fingers kept wobbling when you were trying to paint.” He paused to remember more, raising his finger to his lip, unsoiled nails visible for a moment. His eyes twinkled. “Oh _yeah_ , and remember everyone thought you were a joke, and to be honest you kinda were at the start—”

“ _Please_ , just shut—”

“But man those kids had no idea who they were up against. Not a clue.” He nudged Chanyeol, whose cheeks flamed from resentment and humiliation. “Right, Dimples?” Baekhyun smiled, and now, when their eyes met, Chanyeol couldn’t find it in him to argue back, biting his lip and feeling himself wilt. He turned away and continued drawing, silent once more, but now perhaps pensive. The memory burned—clear as day—in his mind, but now he no longer felt embarrassed. He sketched even as his fingers trembled faintly, and when they did Baekhyun sidled closer, his chin no longer on Chanyeol’s shoulder but now nearer to his knee, as he lay on his stomach and continued to watch him—rapt—with rounded eyes and a slightly parted mouth. And for some reason, when Baekhyun sat nearer, Chanyeol felt himself relax, and, slowly, his head cleared, and his fingers ceased their quivering.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

 _“See,”_ Jongdae stabbed a finger at Baekhyun, lifting his head from where it had once rested on Minseok’s shoulder. Minseok grumbled something inaudible, his face twisted into an expression of disillusion; and Jongdae leaned backwards to continue the discussion whilst nestling his head in his boyfriend’s neck. The position sure _looked_ uncomfortable—his head jerked back to the side and slender legs slanted and jutting into Minseok’s lap, whilst his back remained straight and propped against the quiet boy’s smart desk of drawers—but everyone knew it was not. For Jongdae, at least, it was not, not at all uncomfortable, as long as Minseok was kept happy. “I told you this like a billion times, Baek. Seriously, a billion times, I told you he’s not just some—some ‘regular hoe’.”

“Wow. Ouch.” Baekhyun arched a brow. “I’m, actually, offended.”

“I’m being serious, Baek—I _told_ you,” Jongdae ploughed on, the stench of irritation suffocating his speech. His knee bobbed up and down as it always did when he was immensely exasperated. “I said to you, ‘Don’t mess around with him, he’s sensitive, don’t mess with him,’ that’s what I told you, I told you it a hundred times—and what do you go and do?” He let the question hover; allowed a gap of silence. It was pitiably long, and Baekhyun quickly grew (even more) bored and uninterested as it was prolonged, while they all stiffly waited for the impact of the rhetorical question with a tragically predictable answer to pass. Above their heads, Minseok’s “practical”, single lightbulb flickered faintly, the fluorescent lighting surprisingly strong enough that it managed to lighten up the muted room without much effort indeed. It swung, Baekhyun spotted. But now he was bored again, and upon trailing his gaze back to Jongdae immediately became conscious of a storm brewing: Jongdae’s mouth twitched visibly, and his cheeks were dark and rosy. His hands—by his sides—were unsteady; and when he took a deep breath, everyone in the room braced themselves, including Minseok. “You _ignore_ me, that’s what you do, that’s what you _always_ do, you stupid, idiotic, good-for-nothing mother, mother smucker! You dipstick! You brat! You stupid freaking _clown_!” the high, nasally voice of Kim Jongdae rang out mercilessly, piercing and slicing and carving through the air expertly, the thinnest and sharpest of knives. Everyone, collectively, winced. He persevered, unfaltering: “Even though I’ve warned you, even though I’ve wasted my breath on you and I’ve warned you again and again, you just ignore me, just like you always do, you just _ignore_ me—it goes in one ear, only to come straight out the other end! And what other end? _Your_ butthole, you dumb butthole!” Baekhyun suppressed a snort. “And now, you’ll pay the consequences, and you know what? You know what, Byun Baekhyun?” He crossed his arms, and then finally delivered the grand finale—“I won’t help.”—with a jut of the chin and a conclusive nod of the head to sign with a flourish.

Much to Jongdae’s dismay, Baekhyun’s only response was a deep, prolonged sigh. He raised his eyes to the ceiling when he was done, as he once again inspected the only lightbulb ornamenting the small room, albeit without much fascination at all. Swinging his legs back and forth, he swayed absently, perched comfortably on the edge of Jongdae’s bed, a wasteland of littered sheets of scribbled music notes surrounding him. His head lolled to the side as he appraised his scowling friend with both his eyebrows raised. “Whiny much? I mean, _jeez_ —it’s not like this hasn’t happened before. You didn’t have to give a whole speech and everything, wow. I can handle it, dude, no need to … _worry_.” He almost snickered as Jongdae fumed, like a screeching kettle; then, bending forward, he cast down a wink to Chanyeol, who sat beside Jongdae’s bed a metre or two away from the Married Couple, next to Baekhyun’s dangling feet. The boy’s eyes widened in alarm when he realised he’d been caught staring—and, hastily, he wrenched away his gaze.

Baekhyun smirked, triumphant.

Of the gazillion or so prostitutes, strippers, friends, gay bartenders, students, neighbours and—frankly—absolute strangers that Baekhyun’s never-ending list of acquaintances consisted of, the painfully shy and awkward and “unsociable” Park Chanyeol found himself ultimately befriending only the Married Couple, mainly for two reasons: the first, purely, being that they were _definitely_ , positively and _undeniably_ NOT prostitutes, and absolutely not anybody Baekhyun was concerned with, in any way or shape or form, romantically and/or sexually.

This, at first, only rendered Chanyeol severely sceptical. An underestimation, in fact. He was extremely stunned and baffled upon hearing this and didn’t believe it at all, wouldn’t, couldn’t—even now, he had sweltering doubts at times. And this simply was because they were—without question—both two of the most beautiful people Chanyeol had ever seen in his life.

Jongdae, the younger out of the two, was acknowledged as the Sunflower in the relationship. The one who talked; the one who joked. His long, tousled hair that hung over his smiling eyes was a warm whisky, the comforting colour of leaves brown and sleek with the first rain of autumn, beheld by the eyes of the sun; like peering through a jar of pine honey. And actually, that was essentially how his nickname came about in the first place: the mystery encompassing the fact that, wherever he was—inside, outside, in a darkened room, beneath a greying sky—his face always shone and shimmered, as though the sun loomed directly behind him wherever he went, focusing its sparkling rays onto him like a spotlight. That was the truly brilliant thing, that it was the sun that crouched in _his_ shadow. It brightened his incredibly sharp cheekbones, and that jawline—a sharpened blade that could sever ice as though it were merely paper, with the slightest touch. The hue of his narrow, downturned eyes appeared permanently illuminated, cinnamon rimmed with amber, and then there were his teeth—a perfect, pearly white row which flashed and blinded all observers regularly, due to his habits of cracking a smile or making a joke that he’d guffaw at hysterically for hours, every few seconds. And Jongdae’s wide and square face, which Chanyeol didn’t favour so much but gradually grew accustomed to nonetheless (whilst Baekhyun took it upon himself to grant Jongdae the second nickname “Dinosaur”, which always earned him a smack), accentuated his smile, which curved upwards at the sides and effortlessly managed to take up probably more than half of his already quite large face. He looked magically cheery, despite the fact he was _actually_ known for his frequent whining and nagging.

It resulted in a stark contrast to the other half of the pairing, Minseok, who Baekhyun had apparently only met through the Sunflower. Jongdae worshipped Minseok, and most assumed the feeling was mutual, despite Minseok’s intimidating ambience and reputation for being absolutely terrifying. He was, like everyone else in the four except for Chanyeol, ludicrously tiny—but his presence was colossal. He had the ability to command silence only by strolling, at his usual unhurried, listless pace, into any room; and could force a person’s mouth shut with no more than a half-hearted stare. He glowered rarely—sarcasm and disillusion were his best friends. However, he was also incredibly, startlingly attractive … though not like what made Jongdae so handsome, or even Baekhyun, who Chanyeol—before meeting Minseok—refused to demote from his position as “the most beautiful person Park Chanyeol had ever seen”. (Of course, he would never admit to this aloud.) First of all, unlike Baekhyun, he didn’t look so playful; rather, it was a different sort of cuteness that he possessed, mainly due to his rounded eyes and his being the tiniest out of the four, a much more precious and endearing kind—as well as an overall ethereal magnificence that mainly derived from the dissimilarity of colouring presented by his hair and eyes. Whilst his short hair was soft and blanched, a silvery hue that invented the nickname _Elsa_ which only Jongdae had the balls to use—his prominent, monolid eyes were smoky and velvety, disparately deep and dark, a pair of gaping holes into the bottomless depths of abyss, limitless in the wisdom and years that surpassed the others’. But they were delicately round, sometimes appearing faintly sly and cat-like when he was speculating for example. And what additionally created a sense of enthralling incongruence in his features were his eyebrows, sharp and charmingly expressive. They bended and knotted together and arched and wiggled at times, especially when he was in a good mood or drunk or high on something. He really was adorable, Chanyeol thought to himself, and gorgeous, and faultless.

Chanyeol wouldn’t ever admit another thing to Baekhyun: Baekhyun, who loved Chanyeol’s attention (and attention in general, let’s be honest) and always pleaded to be drawn by him (or sometimes even sculpted; it depended on how much of a good mood Chanyeol was in), perhaps would despair if Chanyeol told him his favourite model was, actually, Minseok. But he couldn’t help feeling that way—Minseok was picture-perfect, and so utterly compelling and spectacular was his mere existence that Chanyeol often struggled to stay in the same room as him without charting his face scrupulously in his head, with a sharpened gaze, planning what he’d be doing in the evening—and that was, obviously, sketching him. Sketching him and growing more and more discouraged as the seconds and minutes and hours chugged past because, here was the problem with trying to draw someone picture-perfect: You were, in essence, destined to fail. It was naturally impossible to replicate such perfection on paper, but as Baekhyun was beginning to say these days, Chanyeol was becoming rather “nit-picky”, and his inability to capture Minseok’s impeccability distressed him considerably and blossomed into a bothersome burden that never left its home on his shoulders. The more he struggled, the more he wanted to achieve this unattainable goal, and the less he was paying attention to the odds against him. It was kind of ironic, some of this, because Minseok was the person who had inspired Chanyeol to become more critical of himself when it came to art; and not only because of his reputation as someone alluring to all, but more so his reputation as one of the biggest (if not _the_ biggest) perfectionists in the art programme.

Regarding his looks, Chanyeol was aware of some rumours that revolved around Minseok’s “to die for abs”—in fact, it was a popular subject, although Jongdae wasn’t to know—and sometimes Chanyeol caught Baekhyun not-so-sneakily passing on a message that life-modelling paid “generously” and Minseok would, without a doubt, “fit in magnificently”. But that wasn’t what Chanyeol cared about, not at all, no, he didn’t give a shit about abs and whatnot: All he cared about was that _face_. That to-die-for _face_.

“I’ll tell you what,” Baekhyun hummed over Chanyeol’s head, and the boy sitting below the other became aware of how much of the distance Baekhyun had closed between them since he’d lost himself in a daze. His attempts to shrink and flatten himself against the ground quickly proved futile, and he squirmed with discomfort that Baekhyun casually dismissed. “I’ll pay you a big juicy sum to shut your mouth.”

(Chanyeol tried not to be wary of all the connotations of the words “big” and “juicy”, especially when paired together.)

“Well—and here I was thinking you had something sincere to contribute to this discussion.” Jongdae snorted, and sensing this particular conversation had—at long last—drawn itself to a close, he grudgingly shuffled backwards, and (more willingly now) nuzzled his partner’s neck in such an obscene manner that Chanyeol grumbled and turned away, shielding his burning face.

And coming face to face with none other than Byun Baekhyun, in the process.

As though he had expected Chanyeol to make such an unfortunate miscalculation, the fair-haired boy was already grinning from ear to ear when their eyes immediately met—as always, not one bit ashamed of his glee—as he crept closer, two hands pressed behind him on Jongdae’s bed to clumsily support himself; keep him from toppling forward accidentally. ( _But he’d still be glad if it happened,_ Chanyeol couldn’t help but think to himself, sounding slightly sour. _More than glad._ ) “What do _you_ think about this situation, Dimples?” Baekhyun was asking, not genuinely interested but inquisitive all the same, although before Chanyeol could be given a chance to respond he had already craned his neck to send another message in the Married Couple’s direction: “Dimples has dealt with this guy before, y’know.” His eyes sparkled, and the sight was all too familiar. Chanyeol grumbled resentfully; and was again unheeded. “Regarding his disorder, actually.”

 _“Disorder,”_ Jongdae echoed scornfully with another contemptuous snort, though his voice emerged partly muffled.

“Yes, disorder. Poor Dimples”—he ruffled Chanyeol’s hair, fondly enough, and didn’t make a reaction when Chanyeol ducked away in embarrassment—“he’s been dealing with this disorder for so long. It’s a serious one, isn’t it, Dimples?”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol mumbled, remaining unobtrusive as always.

Jongdae’s retort was launched over the top of Chanyeol’s head—“Care to stop spewing bullcrap?”—and, instantaneously, almost like a reflex, Baekhyun swooped down from above and cuddled Chanyeol protectively, inattentive to the startled squeaks of disapproval that sounded consequently. His hands raked through the boy’s short hair in a notably practised manner, the entire routine rehearsed and often repeated, before he lifted his nose to the air, refusing to slacken his iron grip—even when Chanyeol started to purple. “That’s cruel of you, Jongdae. For shame! HPD is a serious, serious illness. How could you say such a thing? Like that? In front of Dimples?” By now, Chanyeol had succeeded in wrenching himself free of Baekhyun’s grasp, but the boy persisted obliviously, “Poor Dimples, having to hear you call it ‘bullcrap’—when every day the poor boy’s affected by it. And not very nicely. At all. It’s a real struggle for him, you know that, Jongdae?”

It wasn’t only Jongdae who scoffed this time.

HPD, aka histrionic personality order, was what Chanyeol privately called, “The Attention Whore’s Disorder”—and no, he didn’t have it. No fucking way. According to research he’d been forced to do, it outlined the character of someone obsessed with being the centre of attention at all times; someone naïve, who believed whatever bullshit anybody told them and wanted to impress absolutely everyone (round-eyed and pouty-lipped is what he pictured—and those lips, he added, were probably the product of some kind of million-won feat of surgery); and were basically, in Chanyeol’s eyes … attention whores. _Basically._ They weren’t gratified unless others were gratified by them, weren’t certain unless others agreed, weren’t happy unless _everyone’s eyes were on them_. People who clung to the centre of rooms. People who clung to others; to the interest of others. Not only interest in general—nope, that wasn’t all. Sexual interest, that’s what Attention Whores liked. Because you can’t miss out the “Whore” in Attention Whore, can you? Skimpy skirts, smeared and smoky makeup, skinny jeans, slim and sexy.

And another thing. People with HPD were _drama queens_. They overreacted over the slightest things, screamed and sobbed if they chipped a nail, whined and wailed over breakups and stumbles and getting only fourteen out of fifteen hours of beauty sleep.

Chanyeol. Wasn’t. An. Attention. Whore.

Chanyeol. Wasn’t. A. Drama. Queen.

Chanyeol. Didn’t. Have. HPD.

But according to Baekhyun, yes he did. And according to everyone else Baekhyun had blabbered to about it, yes he did.

 

 

 _Three years earlier._ Figure drawing class.

Baekhyun is lifting up his shirt, yawning as he does so, his eyelids drooping down like a pair of roller blinds still shut without the warning of sunrise and a day’s beginning. Settled in sleep-mode, Baekhyun moves sluggishly around the platform, shuffling with his trousers hanging loosely below his sharp and wiry hips and stomach unsheathed and glowing, his entire body aching and impatiently waiting for his turn to roll by and the day to mirror this. He quickly notices that the others had already begun their rounds—striking stances in all their naked glory, these awkward adolescents masquerading as Greek Gods, the most infamous life model of all ruminates with a gracious enough sniff—and thus settles into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs situated at the front of the classroom, adjacent to the platform. The sun peeps through the classroom’s grubby windowpanes and bows at his feet, lavish streaks of blinding shine spilling onto Baekhyun’s face; he raises his hands to shield his lidded eyes with a short, miffed growl; slides downwards in the chair, stretching and yawning again with his entire mouth open wide and teeth bared.

Some students sit by him, the newer ones. He spots them when his eyes finally adjust to the bright light, a clump of fresh and rosy faces partially obscured in the blinding sunshine. When he feels them shiver—intimidated—he gives his toothiest grin.

It’s late September, a week or two into the start of a new school year, the time of students being admitted in tonnes and masses. The cluster of sheep beside him huddle together, eyes flitting about fearfully, and their anxious swallowing dry and distractingly loud. Baekhyun watches them as he waits his turn; watches the sweat roll off their cheeks and dress them in gloss; watches them clutch at paintbrushes they never get around to using and look up at times to the naked models, and of the models, Baekhyun mostly. It’s been a good few years since Baekhyun started working here, and the reaction, he’s always been greatly satisfied with. “They’ve worked with nude photographs a lot, usually,” someone once explained to him. “Just … small dicks. Then they get thrown into the wild.” That had caused Baekhyun to roar with laughter, and he remembers how bright he had gone with pride. He smirks now, too, and looks on.

The clock opposite him ticks at a steady rate, unpromising, jeering; he clicks his tongue, his skin crawling with unrest.

But then the kids at the platform are done, _finally_ done, and he’s hastened in the direction of his place without waiting for them to hop down first. (Only one isn’t that much of a newbie, someone quite young but noticeably well practised. Tall, polished, tan. Baekhyun thinks his name is Jongin, although some kids in the class call him Kai apparently. Baekhyun catches his eye when he passes at his side, but only for a second.) Baekhyun has never been fond of robes, and standing bare-chested already on the platform, it’s impossible to be ignorant of the intensity of the quivering on his left, mounting as he reaches down—without exceeding the pace of the slowest snail, the thought of taunting his watchers somewhat entertaining—for the zipper of his jeans. A grin pokes at the side of his mouth, and even though there are four other models on the platform with him he feels centred, feels that most eyes in the room are on _him_. Hence, with a great dollop of deliberation, he catches and pulls down his zipper with that same unmissable simper on his face plastered onto his face. After an agonising wait the jeans surrender, and grab at his ankles in one single, swift motion.

And it might be worth noting—

Baekhyun’s never been that fond of underwear, either.

 _Especially_ in late September.

The resulting gasps are spectacular, the gasps that Baekhyun savours slyly as he fails to veil his satisfaction from the adoring public. He kicks off his trousers, discarding them carelessly, without taking any notice of the teacher’s eye-roll, invigorated by obvious disapprobation. (She isn’t at all, however, unaccustomed to Baekhyun’s inappropriate demonstrations. It’s been more than several years since the troublesome imp has set foot in this aging classroom, and anyway, his body is a gem. A perfect body for sketching, slender and sinewy and sleek, and she can’t afford to let a body like _that_ slip through her fingers, like smooth, fine soap.)

“That’s enough,” Baekhyun hears someone chuckle amusedly, and in spite of himself turns to find Jongin/Kai chuckling wholeheartedly at the hubbub, his face lit with sunbeams and amusement. Instinctively, the naked model bats his eyelashes—half in humour, half in invitation—and almost cries out in startled delight when his recipient automatically returns the gesture with a wiggling of the eyebrows and a wonderfully clumsy wink. _Shit, he’s cute,_ Baekhyun’s insides buzz feverishly, and it is a great struggle then to throttle a translucent grin that threatens to make a guest appearance on his pinked face. Instead, he only gives a quick wave, which is again easily imitated, and steers himself to revert to his starry-eyed viewers, his brain in a turmoil, plans and plots and schemes formulating in his mind in milliseconds—

_He’s cute, hell yes he’s cute FUCK oh my okay so wink at him again no you gotta tease him, he’s a model like you teasing always works especially for okay so you start off small and inviting and shit a few winks blow kiss damn go near hand hand hand places where hand shouldn’t oh my fuck yes and he’ll totally around your finger in seconds fuck he’ll never be able to resist fuck, fucking delicious abs—_

And it is then that, amid his feral daze of enthusiasm, Baekhyun is rudely jolted awake at the clattering of a door being rammed open and a tall, tall boy stumbling into a classroom in a blur and landing his foot in a can of paint, flinging himself onto the ground in the process and initiating a great ruckus of riotous laughter and applause.

At first Baekhyun is disillusioned, in fact quite irritated, his arms folded across his bare chest at the realisation of no eyes attached to his person anymore—not even Jongin’s/Kai’s. Despite the fact he is sure none of the attention is meant with much amiability, Baekhyun for a second makes an opponent out of this unwelcome intruder, glowering at him from where he remains unseen.

But then Park Chanyeol lifts his bruised, burning face from the ground, squeaking in horror, and all the malice cramped in Baekhyun’s chest loosens and collapses.

The boy is standing, and there’s a mop of hair—tangled, _so_ tangled, there’s no way he brushed it this morning—sheltering his eyes, the evidence of an awful perm thrusting sympathy at Baekhyun’s clouded mind as he continues to inspect the lanky figure hanging awkwardly and ashamedly at the front of the class. He’s tall, _really_ fucking tall, so tall Baekhyun wonders if tripping over a paint can hadn’t been the chief cause of his fall—instead, banging his head into the top of the doorframe when he’d first dashed in here, that’d done it. If the whole ordeal hadn’t been painful enough to watch, the kid has on a grubby tee-shirt with the word “NATUREL” printed in nude, painfully visible despite the many creases embedded into the shirt. Wincing, Baekhyun can’t bear to watch anymore, and clears his throat loudly.

Park Chanyeol’s head turns almost instinctively, his eyes searching for a few seconds before landing on Baekhyun’s face.

For a second, Byun Baekhyun is speechless. All thoughts of Jongin/Kai and his attentive audience at his feet and everything vanish, just like that, his attention permanently stolen, his conscious never to be the same again, his entire being transformed, by these soft eyes he spies beneath a sheet of tawny curls: eyes of hazelnut, of warm gingerbread and hot cocoa and the scent of chocolate brownies snaking up his tongue and honey and rust and warmth and sweetness and love—

The teacher clears her throat abruptly, and both boys jump slightly. “You alright?” Her voice is hoarse and underlined in spikes of stiffness and surprise: it is, indeed, an unfamiliar situation.

Overwhelmed by sudden realisation, Chanyeol chokes on a stifled noise of yet even more embarrassment as Baekhyun watches, peering through parted fingers and his hands stuck onto his face with the glue of mortified empathy, as the poor boy flails for a bit before finally managing to haul his foot out of the paint can, his leg coated in an effervescent lime from just below the shin down, his face slowly taking on the same colour. A few moments pursue this agonisingly awkward exchange with yet even more awkward silence, until the students collectively opt to shift their attention back to work, and—never fully taking their eyes off Park Chanyeol—twist their heads in the direction of the models standing on the platform, the models who similarly take their time to stir from their identical stupors.

Meanwhile, Baekhyun is the last to remain transfixed by the penetrating glare of the paint fastened to the boy’s leg, never peeling away his eyes like everyone else in the classroom who has settled back into their routine practices. Today the students are focusing on the lower half of the models—an excellent topic for the new students to kick off their year with, eh? A real pleasure—and hence Baekhyun is free to permit his gaze to linger, linger until Chanyeol’s pupils finally veer in the right direction, and his round eyes lock with Baekhyun’s almost immediately. His dark hair seems to hang lower as his face submerges itself in a bashful blush, a blush which knots up Baekhyun’s stomach and stains his face with conspicuous delight. It’s as though he hadn’t been feeling this exact way several seconds ago, when Jongin/Kai caught his eye; no, all thoughts of that boy have completely disintegrated* and now he is left fascinated and beyond inquisitive, a predator insatiably watching his prey scuttle towards an abandoned canvas near the back of the classroom (but thankfully he remains in full view), the creature appearing so _small_ all of a sudden in his timid nature. His head ducked down between his broad shoulders; his large and round eyes nipping here and there in case of any stray paint cans strewn haphazardly onto the floor; his enormous, pink ears peeking through ripples of dark fur. _Wow,_ Baekhyun thinks to himself, stunned, riveted by the boy in front of him, unaware of how his jaw is flat on the ground in his awe, _how can someone be so big … yet so small?_

*(It goes on for a while but with no such luck. Jongin, known also by the name of Kai in the eyes of his awed audience, sighs, something in his chest giving one last thump before splitting. His blood pounds softly and sadly in his ears as he realises his final attempt to rouse the attention of the incredible legend Byun Baekhyun has been defeated, crushed by the unexpected and undesirable entrance of a gigantic kid with the stench of awkwardness exuding from his person and green paint now splattered all over his leg. He turns to commence a walk of shame back to his place, his head throbbing regretfully, when he nearly topples over a tiny boy with huge eyes and puckered lips and the cutest shaved head who has materialised out of literally nowhere. Jongin blinks. “Hello, I’m Do Kyungsoo, and you deserve better,” he announces in a contrastingly gruff, gravelly voice that makes Jongin involuntarily gasp, and before the taller _and butt-naked_ of the two can donate anything to the exchange his hand is silently grasped by the other’s tiny one and he is dragged away without another word.)

 

Baekhyun soon acquires a name to match the giant, and it’s Park Chanyeol. The name sounds simple and pretty, although Baekhyun’s never really _found_ an interest in names and how they sound … but he’s interested in this name, the way it rolls off his tongue but simultaneously sizzles atop it like a blistering wildfire when he says it and he says it again and again, lying alone in bed later that night—he’s interested in the name.

But he’s way more interested in the owner.

Hence, Baekhyun takes it upon himself to do some research. A few report cards he steals, timetables and such, along with a few ambiguous statements that aren’t much help—“He’s a weirdo,” and, “Chanyeol? The guy who never talks?” and “His ears are _gigantic_ , dude, it’s hella freaky”—in addition to others that provide him with much more desired assistance—“Oh, that kid, the one who joined a few months ago?” and, “Holy shit, his art is incredible, the boy’s got _skill_ ,” and _even better_ , “Park Chanyeol is definitely gay, you can’t argue with me on this.”

Suddenly Baekhyun’s hunger has warped into an addiction.

And a week later, he’s got Chanyeol’s address.

Baekhyun initially suspects that the new boy must reside in one of the provided dorms on campus, as nearly all the students do. Except, when the day of this discovery arrives, he is quickly proven wrong, and it emerges that Park Chanyeol may very well be a/the son of a multimillionaire … which might be slightly exaggerated, he appreciates, but the sheer amazement that engulfs Byun Baekhyun, as he now stands only metres away from the wide, one-floor building that he will soon make his new home, is simply indescribable and …enormous. The area is probably ten times bigger than that of his parents’ house, and the outside is prettily furnished—fair and handsome—especially in contrast to the shabby slums slumped on its sides. There are balconies— _balconies_ —with potted plants and hung washing and he’s pretty sure several of those shirts have the word GUCCI marked boldly on them. And he’s also pretty sure they’re not false.

“Greedy bitch,” Baekhyun breathes out in disbelief, involuntarily. “This shit better work”—in a muted mumble—“and God, it better be worth all my life savings.”

 _It._ Or rather, _he_.

Oh Sehun told him the guys at the front door would be expecting his arrival, but Baekhyun is a little too cynical to take the risk. Ironically, his other option is a moderately hefty risk also, perhaps even riskier; but nevertheless, he swings his legs over the shortest fence he can find and steals inside—whistling gently—without a single pause to reassess his actions.

ROOM 614. The door is welcoming, inviting, a comforting oak. Baekhyun grins slyly.

The first knock provokes no attention, gaining a frown as a result. For only a second, he is anxious about the possibility that Park Chanyeol might not be home—but only for only a second. There’s also the possibility he might pop up behind him, catch him in the act, leaving Baekhyun to feign innocence and start flirting from the get-go, though perhaps that wouldn’t be too bad of a scenario, would it? Clichéd, but hot. Maybe?

Another few short raps, growing increasingly impatient, and then the door is heaved open, fully, and Baekhyun nearly squeaks in a sudden flurry of anticipation that drowns him, the previously imagined fantasy crushed and replaced.

Park Chanyeol is _so_ much taller up close, so, _so_ tall. His hair is as rumpled as he remembers it, messy and floppy and overgrown and reaching down the back of his neck like muddied vines, tickling the collar of his white shirt—WOW, wow, white really suits the guy, Baekhyun’s thinking, breathless at the way it embraces his broad, toned chest, needing to remind himself not to drool at this god-like creature looming over him. He’s practically taking up three-quarters of the doorway, he then realises, how will Baekhyun manage to slip inside…? Well, that’s okay, he’s fine with just staying here with his head tilted backwards slightly so he can stare and stare and stare for as long as he wants into this gorgeous boy’s chestnut brown irises and those—those—

Baekhyun’s cheeks tingle. Suddenly he is speechless, even more speechless than before, the most speechless a speechless person can be, utterly dumbfounded and gobsmacked and starstruck. He loves them. He loves these dimples. These cute little holes in this boy’s face, in his cheeks, they’re visible even when he isn’t smiling, when he’s gawking back as though he recognises Baekhyun (and well that is to be expected) and he looks surprised and startled and now he’s blushing and he’s smiling a bit SO THOSE DIMPLES ARE POKING OUT EVEN MORE—

A very much needed break, to let his unsettling elation slowly subside. A wobbly breath. Then: “So, here’s how it’s gonna work, Dimples,” Baekhyun commences in a booming voice, and the moment the nickname is said aloud it feels so _right_ , so delicious, so fitting. “Park Chanyeol” is so dull and plain and how could he have ever thought it was the perfect name for this boy, he wonders?

Park Chanyeol, he notices, looks more than taken aback at the boy’s “greeting”, his mouth opening partially then quickly clamping shut, before hanging open once more. Baekhyun thinks he looks cute.

More than cute.

“The guy from … figure drawing?” Chanyeol rasps, his voice husky and orotund and beautifully ragged.

It takes more than a few seconds for Baekhyun’s brain to remember how to function properly. “Heard lots about you, Dimples,” Baekhyun pushes forward with his plan, switching his tone of voice to now more of a drawl, squeezing past Chanyeol’s broad figure in the doorway without much difficulty. He expects the other to call out, to yank him backwards—he looks quite strong, firm and sturdy—but when he idly casts his gaze to the other, he only finds Chanyeol lingering awkwardly and limply by the door, his eyes blinking slowly and incredulously, his mouth continuing to open and close as though he were a gulping fish stranded ashore. Baekhyun waits a second to allow the boy a chance to get rid of him, counts silently; but nothing happens.

Appeased (albeit a little dubious, too), he turns back and takes his time, not without noting a gaping door on his side hiding most contents of a blanched bathroom, to drink in the impressive width of the front room he now beholds: the tall and pale walls, the small cosy table, the three jet black sofas around it, the massive flat-screen TV, the cute mini-fridge with clustered magnets and bright post-it notes ornamenting it—and best of all, the two doors laid out majestically in front of him, only several centimetres apart, shut firmly although Baekhyun is more than certain about what awaits him beyond them.

Struggling to stifle his jitteriness, Baekhyun concentrates again on his new companion, having to crane his neck a little so their eyes can meet. “Guessing this place wasn’t built for one?” he purrs, thinking of all the various grimy dorms he’s ever visited or once inhabited since he arrived here: the peeling walls and sickening stenches and foul roommates. The first space outside of his home that he lived in was unbearably tiny and seven sweaty, spotty, smelly teenagers had to be cramped inside. Of all the undesirable memories Baekhyun keeps fondly of the place, he recalls a lack of decent heating or running water at times, fridges that didn’t work, dipshits blasting screamo at the ungodly hours of one to four a.m., and an insufficient quantity of beds. He wonders if Chanyeol has ever lived in a place like that, wonders if that could be a topic of conversation.

But Chanyeol doesn’t seem to know how to do anything but hang like a wilting curtain and stutter, his neck plunged in scarlet at the other’s remark; hence, Baekhyun keenly begins parading towards the door nearest to him without wasting any more time, reaching out and swinging it open—too absorbed in his own glee to be bewildered by the fact that Chanyeol hasn’t protested _once_ at his actions.

The room inside is reasonably tidy, despite the unmade bed and few sketchbooks littered on the desk beside it as well as a little violet lamp, balmy shades of coffee and maroon that contrast with the stony landscape in the front room. Quickly enough Baekhyun’s eyes are back on Chanyeol’s bed, which is large, _so_ large, the abundant sheets curled up at the end of the long frame snowy white and Baekhyun is forced to resist the urge that pops up without warning inside of him to launch himself into them, to envelop himself in the sheets and Chanyeol, encase himself in (in _side_ ) Chanyeol Chanyeol Chanyeol. He blushes warily at his own alarming enthusiasm, shifts his attention to the paintings and portraits garnishing the walls, the wardrobe fastened stubbornly ( _Open up let me have a peek please pretty please with a cherry on top_ ) and the neighbouring chest of drawers decorated gingerly. It’s so … exactly what he envisaged, coy and placid but simultaneously streaked in stunning sculptures and sketches; neat and cluttered, withdrawn and wild. Baekhyun, thrilled, spins, only to halt abruptly at the surprise that strikes him, inflicted by discovering his glowing reflection in a wall-length mirror he never noticed before.

“Nice room,” he remarks breathlessly upon his return, only to find Chanyeol trapped where he left him.

It’s amusing, strange, and delightful at the same time; Baekhyun can’t at all find it in him to be annoyed.

Twirling back around, he marches towards the other door— _oh, how close together they are_ —and chokes on his hysteria when he tears it open. Like Chanyeol’s room, there isn’t a tinge of black anywhere, but the walls are swathed in clouds carrying light rain, making the empty room look even emptier. On his left, a single, comfortable bed stripped of all bedding except a small lonely pillow, paler than the sheets on the other’s bed; and, next to it, a similar desk to Chanyeol’s, and finally an extremely wide wardrobe with a few plum-coloured hangers draped inside. It’s a good deal, he thinks. Hell, it’s a brilliant deal. The room is perfect, Park Chanyeol is perfect … _It was totally worth it,_ Baekhyun thinks, his face darkening for a second, almost sooty grey in this quiet musing. _Having to talk to Oh Sehun again … It was worth it._ In spite of himself, he sounds unconvinced, sounds almost remorseful, Oh Sehun’s face vividly flashing in his mind, soft and sad and hurt. But then Park Chanyeol’s face quickly takes its place and all those traces of uncertainty are extinguished immediately.

“How much is the place, anyway, Dimples?” Baekhyun resumes his discussion, coolly enough, gleaming eyes revisiting the gangly figure still frozen behind him with the same mixture of perplexity, shock, curiosity and terror exhibited on his face.

He expects the boy only to stammer for the umpteenth time in response, but to his astonishment Park Chanyeol is able to gasp out the price—which almost blows Baekhyun’s cover as his jaw threatens to split open where it lies on the polished floor. It is such a colossal number it has him out of breath, but he is able to dismiss his faintness and—tightly—enquire about the halved price.

Chanyeol pauses, and Baekhyun wonders if he is readying himself to ask the other to leave. But again, amazing him but now also rewarding him with relief, this interval is merely a needed one for calculation: and despite the fact the second number isn’t as conveniently low as what Baekhyun had in mind (certainly not much lower than the original price) he is grateful anyway and back to his animated charm soon enough.

“W-would you, would you like to take a seat?” Chanyeol unexpectedly offers; his voice nearly inaudible, his pupils darting nervously. He gestures with trembling hands towards one of the sofas, which Baekhyun traipses towards dutifully, sinking into it, his eyes unremittingly sweeping over the room while Chanyeol settles opposite him, scratching the back of his head and continuing to look about him.

He’s impressed at the other’s lack of complaints, impressed and pleased more than mystified now, and he clears his throat when he decides it’s time.

“Alright. Listen closely now, Dimples,” he begins, and the other’s ears twitch attentively at Baekhyun’s arresting tone. The fair-haired boy leans forward, the make-or-break part of the night beginning to unravel, his eyes glued to the other’s with as much muffled menace as he can summon. “You’ve got a nasty case of HPD, Dimples. That’s _histrionic personality disorder_ , if you wanna keep that in mind. I’ll sum it up for you: You’re obsessed with attention. It’s basically an addiction. You need it, you’ll do anything to get it. Ever messed around with weed, my friend?” He hasn’t, unsurprisingly, but then again it was a rhetorical question—even so, he shakes his head vigorously, his eyes so big and round and glossy Baekhyun has to stop suddenly to bite hard on his bottom lip, his insides screaming, fingers licking at the hem of his shirt. “Anyway, you just gotta know it’s nasty, this case of yours, and you kinda need some assistance. So you’ve called up your favourite pal Byun Baekhyun”—he sticks out a hand for a friendly shake, then rests it on his lap when the reasonably professional exchange is over, his palm tingling—“to help out. Like you know, be your babysitter and keep you out of trouble and shit. And I’m willing to pay the expensive-as-fuck costs of the place to get you through this, of course.”

Almost naturally, he claps his hand on the other’s back, grinning to himself when the other squeaks in shock.

“So, here I am, Dimples.” He can no longer hide his tremulous smile. The subsequent silence offers some suspense to the situation, although Baekhyun doesn’t notice—his heart is pounding and his ears ringing and his entire body singing. The silence is loud and anxious and eager.

Then he remembers. “Oh, and, by the way…” He gets up and returns to wandering, standing closely by the mini-fridge. The scrawls on the post-it notes are impressively illegible, but he can make out one which is a reminder to _buy Toben a new collar: red and stripy_. (Baekhyun ponders for a moment if the collar belongs to a dog, cat, or is in fact possibly evidence of a kink; but he’s quickly reassured that it’s probably not the last option when Chanyeol sneezes and out of the blue lurches from his seat and begins apologising frantically, spluttering and sputtering in a way Baekhyun fails to find laughable, in a way that surprises him and sends his insides spiralling headfirst into anarchy. He then is reassured that Chanyeol is therefore not definitely in a relationship—or kinky.*) As he glances over his shoulder, he remembers that the other—who looks rather meek and sheepish, hanging back with his shoulders hunched and eyes cast downwards—is waiting for the rest of his announcement, which he delivers as nonchalantly as possible: “I’m very sexually active, and very gay. Hope that won’t be much of an issue.”

*(Disclaimer: He is none.)

Chanyeol shakes his head straightaway, and again Baekhyun is pleased—perhaps now, a bit curious and suspicious also. “Well, I can’t say that surprises me much,” he bustles, fingering one of the magnets, a funky-looking drum. His head cocks to the side. “You didn’t really look the homophobic kind.” _You didn’t really look the straight kind, either,_ a voice inside him sings, and he nearly says it—but something stops him, and he swallows the words as well as a small, hopeful, enthusiastic smile; he feels giddy and thrilled and he is in fact very much aware of his noticeably rosy cheeks, damp with sweat.

Wringing his hands together, he twists around fully, drawing in a deep breath.

“So … it’s a deal?”

He waits with a swollen heart, a swollen smile and swollen eyes, waits patiently and excitedly and calmly and curiously as Chanyeol bites his lip, searches behind him for something—an escape? Baekhyun isn’t sure—before replicating Baekhyun’s deep breath in and nodding, an expression on his face that grumbles, _I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I’m doing it anyway, and God knows why._

Baekhyun nearly shrieks in delight at the positive result, feels his feet gravitate from the ground and finds himself high, high up in the clouds at the climax of his delirium—but he only nods back in grateful, blissful acknowledgment, clasping his hands together and reclining on his heels, beaming.

He likes Park Chanyeol, he decides, as he watches him carefully, watches him fidget, watches him wear at his bottom lip with his teeth and watches those walnut brown eyes wobble. His smile stretches wider.

He likes him a lot.

And before he knows what’s happening, he’s on the tips of his toes and he’s pressed his lips against the other’s, and immediately after an almost-scream explodes from Park Chanyeol’s throat and there are hands, big hands shoving hard at Baekhyun’s chest as he nearly collapses backwards (which he doesn’t, because of course he knew this would happen) while Chanyeol inches nearer to the closest exit, panting and gulping and gasping, quivering fingers hovering over his plump, delicious-looking lips.

“Sorry, Dimples,” Baekhyun purrs, not fooling anybody, beneath his lashes and sly smile and with his cheeks sleek with sweat and heart thumping contentedly in his chest. “Just…” He chuckles. “Couldn’t resist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay thanks for reading folkitos hope a handful of you enjoyed uwu pls stay tuned for chapter 2 if u liked this trash


	2. chanyeol hates birthday parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight this chapter a bit shorter anyway hope the few of u reading this trash are enjoying uwu

Baekhyun loved birthday parties—but, more than anything, he loved _Chanyeol’s_ birthday parties.

Of course, Chanyeol didn’t like parties, including those on his birthday; and he’d never asked to trudge home one night after an exhausting day at school with his eyes half-lidded and skin crawling—only to stumble into a dimly lit living room crammed with people he didn’t recognise, except for a Kim Minseok he saw grinding against a stranger (he’d never felt so scarred in his life), a Kim Jongdae watching curiously from an oddly close distance, and a Byun Baekhyun who let out an excited wail at the sight of his best friend. Chanyeol backed away slowly, face flushed and eyes wide and darting in the direction of the door behind him. But before he could have had the chance to flee, Baekhyun had flung his arm blindly around Chanyeol’s neck—forcing him to hiss through his teeth and recoil—and begun to croon into the other’s ear, his breath hot and tasting of alcohol and anticipation: _“The birthday boy is finally here…”_

It was then that Chanyeol managed to figure out what was going on, and it took all the willpower not to groan loudly, shove Baekhyun away from him and race forward towards his bed—

Except, noticing the state everybody around him was in, the thought of, _What could I see in my bedroom if I walked in right now?_ quickly surfaced in the helpless boy’s mind, as his cheeks took on a dark, horrified flush. Of all the possibilities, the least damaging sight would be a puddle of vomit on the ground.

Surrendering reluctantly, Chanyeol shuddered, whimpered, and was hauled by Baekhyun to the centre of the room, where his friend had held out an intimidating, tall glass of a substance pungent enough to be vodka close to Chanyeol’s face. Again Chanyeol tried his best to flinch away, a traitor squeak escaping his pursed lips, although by now most people around them were aware of the birthday boy’s presence (despite the fact he didn’t know anybody in the room for them to recognise him, anyway). And then someone had begun a chant, and after that Chanyeol never succeeded in remembering what happened. He now only relied on what Baekhyun and the Married Couple claimed to be true—and, whenever they reminded him, he wished, he really wished it wasn’t.

Sometimes Baekhyun exaggerated—“You stripped off all your clothes, man! And then you got real close to Minseok, and man, couldn’t watch anything after that.” But when that happened, the Married Couple gave their eyewitness accounts; yet no matter how false Baekhyun’s stories turned out to be, the truth was never too different and never not humiliating enough to make Chanyeol want to slap himself in the face with a giant shovel again and again and again—“No. We never did anything. But you did take off your clothes,” and, “Yeah, and seriously, that, that was, er— Oh, and I think after that you, you told some guy you probably looked hotter than him jerking off and, um, you, yeah. You both just, seriously. Yeah.”

It is important to consider that one might have thought jerking off in front of a bunch of people you didn’t know with a random guy you also didn’t know must have been far worse than grinding naked against one of your friends (presumably also naked). But given that the friend in question was none other than Kim Minseok, this opinion was automatically rendered incorrect and meaningless. Anything was better than grinding naked against a presumably also naked Kim Minseok whilst drunk at your own birthday party. _Anything._

Well, perhaps not _anything_ , because the most recent of Chanyeol’s birthday parties—the third organised by Byun Baekhyun—turned out to be, miraculously, worse. Saving the nauseating details, he’d seen both Minseok and Jongdae’s genitals in one night, numerous times (far, far too many times in one night), and neither could look him in the eye after that for almost four and a half months.

Unluckily, that time round, Chanyeol hadn’t woken up without the scarring, searing memories of the night before. But oh, how he wished he had…

Baekhyun didn’t only organise the parties, didn’t only order the snacks and tidy the place and call up as many people as he could to make the place as cramped and awful as possible, but he had also actually been—all three times—behind Park Chanyeol’s drunken incidents. How had he been behind them? The answer was simple: He gave Chanyeol drinks.

Chanyeol was infamous for the impacts alcohol had on him. A few glasses always got him crazy, wild, insane—hollering nonsensically and jumping on tables and taking off his shirt and waving it around in the air while trilling off-key versions of Orange Caramel or VIXX’s cover of _So Hot_ (it was _one time_ : Baekhyun never failed to leave out the part where Chanyeol had torn a curtain in half and dumped it onto his head whilst simultaneously ripping off his, entire, bottom-half).

The Married Couple were like that too. Only a couple of drinks and they were both off their faces in no time—and Chanyeol assumed they’d had more than only a few that … that night, because this time, much to his dismay, he had found that _they_ were the ones who didn’t remember.

So, when Jongdae waltzed into their dorm the following morning with Minseok tottering behind, he was chattering happily as usual, unbeknownst to the horrors of the night before. “So, what happened _this time_?” he almost cackled, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly and excitedly, eyes shining as they raked over Chanyeol’s burning face. Chanyeol’s own were lowered, lowered, so low, he couldn’t bear to look at either of them, or even Baekhyun— And he could never forget the part of the horrible memory when Jongdae laughed harder and mistakenly went, “Look how embarrassed he is! Gosh, it must have been awful this time, eh? Oh—man, come on, tell us—tell us what happened!”

It wasn’t only the Married Couple who Chanyeol had ignored after the incident, but he’d tried his hardest to avoid Baekhyun too, always angrily remembering that devilishly bright look on his friend’s face when he caught them in the act and only roared with pleasure at the sight of them—and always remembering how he had exploded into hysterics in the same way even when he told the Married Couple about their little “threesome party” as though it were the funniest, most normal thing ever.

He’d tried his best to leave for class early; to lock his bedroom door; to eat out; to not make so much eye contact.

And yet Baekhyun, he was always there—always there, buzzing around his head, leaning towards him, flashing smiles, winking, laughing…

Even now, as Chanyeol growled and endeavoured to suppress these agonising thoughts and focus on the sketchbook in front of him, Baekhyun abruptly burst into his bedroom like a bomb detonating. Chanyeol nearly groaned out loud at the boy’s entrance; because thoughts of Baekhyun were distracting enough, but his actual presence was an entirely different thing altogether.

And not in a good way, of course: not in a good way at all.

“For fuck’s sake,” he whinged, the door swinging shut behind him. He stabbed a finger at the window, the sky greyed and sunken. “Four newsagents out there,” he cried, “ _four_ of ’em, and still—nothing!” At Chanyeol’s blank stare, he sighed, clawing at his sleeve in the process. “Nothing—no new jobs! No news! No advertisements! I’m never gonna get a raise, and that stupid bitch—when is she gonna understand how much I’ve done for her? _I’m_ the reason she’s gotten so many new students recently!” He puffed out his chest for a moment, eyes shimmering with determination, before he sagged completely and let out a long whine, appearing and sounded very much like a deflating tire. Chanyeol stifled a laugh and dropped his eyes down before he could get caught.

His friend’s words weren’t entirely true; but for the most part, he was right. Byun Baekhyun was a popular tourist attraction indeed at figure drawing.

Chanyeol skimmed over his sketch for the billionth time that evening and scratched the back of his head in thought. He’d been practising as many techniques as he could find or think of, growing increasingly troubled by the second about whatever project was coming up and that his teacher kept hinting at. What if he was paired with Baekhyun again? He’d like that since he thought Baekhyun was the best to draw in the class; but, then again, he was— _Baekhyun_. So…

“Man.” Baekhyun, noticing a small rip in his sleeve, bit his lip, and hid his arms behind him. He screwed his eyes and peered at Chanyeol through them. “Need to get laid.”

“What about the ‘special’ man who broke your heart three days ago?” Chanyeol couldn’t fight back the interjection, which he uttered almost to himself with a small, sure smirk.

Baekhyun whirled on him. “Shut up,” he sizzled, but pouted in spite of himself. Chanyeol shook his head at him and smiled.

The fair-haired of the two waited several moments, stamping his foot slightly, as Chanyeol slowly regained his concentration; and then scrambled onto the bed beside him, tucking his head into the taller boy’s broad shoulder and purring into his neck.

Chanyeol jerked away—but not completely. Baekhyun’s hair tickled his skin and made it go very hot and, he assumed, very red, too. “I’m busy.”

“I’ll just watch.”

Chanyeol grunted but conceded anyway. His fingers lightly held the pencil and stroked it as he thought, wondered about this upcoming “exception”. The last time they’d been introduced to an exception, it was a task to sculpt something “intricate but small”. And that was it; that was all they were told. Exceptions were like that: simple, vague. Unpredictable. Varying.

Chanyeol’s grip tightened on his pencil without his knowing and his tooth pierced his bottom lip.

And then he once again acknowledged Baekhyun burrowing his face in his neck and rolled his eyes, shrinking into himself like an irritated, punctured balloon.

“Dim—”

“Actually, I lied. It was four days ago. Congratulations on the new record.”

Subsequent to his teasing, Chanyeol abruptly became conscious of a sharp pain at the back of his head when Baekhyun, fuming, smacked him, hard—very hard—with a pillow.

Annoyed, Chanyeol tried to push him off the bed; but Baekhyun clung on, stubborn as ever. “I’m strong,” he sniffed, although he looked incredibly adorable and tiny clutching the sheets and trying not to slip off, his legs curled and lips puckered as per usual, a small puppy next to giant Chanyeol. “Been working out.” A contradictory statement, Chanyeol thought but didn’t say. Baekhyun—oblivious—smirked.

“Hot.”

“I know, right? Dumb old bitch.” Baekhyun wasn’t really the best at recognising sarcasm.

The giant turned away again, fingered his drawing. Absently, his pupils flicked upwards as he tugged at his ear, to the clock on the wall.

He yawned.

From where he still latched onto the bed gingerly, Baekhyun watched him, eyes half-lidded. “It’s late.”

Chanyeol tried to ignore him. “I’m b—” he started, but then his words were broken off, expanding into another, much louder, yawn. He slapped one hand over his mouth and glared at Baekhyun, who gazed back levelly, the corners of his mouth twisted upwards.

Then he frowned again. “You need to sleep.”

“I told you, I—”

Presently, there was a struggle.

And then at last Chanyeol was forced to give in, flopping back onto the bed like a fish; his book was chucked onto the floor in the process, with a pitiful, heavy _thump_. Giving a satisfied and smug smile, Baekhyun curled up against the other’s flat stomach, and obediently Chanyeol reached out and switched off his lamp with a defeated sigh.

Baekhyun sleeping in Chanyeol’s bed was a regular occurrence, so much so he got their bedrooms confused sometimes. Nobody was allowed to know why, and perhaps Baekhyun might have tried to keep it a secret longer if Chanyeol hadn’t realised it on his own: Baekhyun was scared. Of the dark; of being alone; of random noises; of banging doors, creaking floors and of burglars and monsters and everything else. The smallest sound had him squeaking in terror and he always scrabbled onto Chanyeol’s bed and pulled the covers tightly over himself as he trembled; Chanyeol would follow, creep under the covers and crouch next to him and switch on his lava lamp and hush him so he would cease his blubbering, sometimes patted his head or hugged him close or sang to him. Sometimes Chanyeol sang; Baekhyun was well-known for his talent of singing yet he refused to make money out of it. He liked karaoke nights with Chanyeol, though, and this practice was good for when he was scared so Chanyeol could try soothing him by humming SHINee tracks whilst stroking his soft hair until he finally slept. And then Chanyeol would sleep too, eventually, and reluctantly let go and turn away.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Jongdae and Baekhyun were quarrelling, as per usual.

The topic of the day: whether dropping out of high school affected your chances of getting a job.

Jongdae’s mouth twitched visibly as he half cried out, half bawled, “You’re living proof, _seriously_ , living proof, that I’m right!”—while Baekhyun, tugging ardently at the carpet underneath his sprawled body, spat, “It’s not like _your_ job counts because if your aunt wasn’t the owner you’d be in the same situation as me—so who are you talk?”

“I’ll tell you who I am, I’m somebody with a freaking job—”

“And how is life modelling not a job?”

“You’re literally just, like, like a _stripper_ or some—”

“Being a stripper is a job! And I’m not even ‘like’ a stripper—”

Chanyeol’s eyes glided across the wall in front of him, chased where its pearly sheen gradually faded into an off-white which managed to appear illuminated in the rays of sunshine pouring from the opposite window. Beneath it the Married Couple were huddled closely together like a pair of penguins—although Minseok had his head turned away slightly, looking … very precious, all of a sudden, and perfect. He looked, Chanyeol thought to himself, like a perfectly manufactured doll that would never be regarded as antique—porcelain, he was, a porcelain doll. His pretty little puckering lips, primrose; button nose; round glass eyes…

Without even realising, Chanyeol began to draw, his sketchpad appearing out of nowhere and his fingers that clutched at his pencil racing over the paper at the speed of—

“You’re drawing me, aren’t you?”

Chanyeol was jerked to attention and his head snapped upwards so his neck nearly split at the unexpectedness of the action. He flushed, hard, noticing Minseok had caught him and he’d been oblivious to not only this, but also the fact that Minseok had sat on Jongdae’s bed right beside him. Baekhyun and Jongdae were too immersed in their arguing; it was essentially only the two of them.

Hesitant, Chanyeol nodded.

Minseok sidled even closer, inspected the illustration with knitted brows. His lips pursed; then spread a little. “Really good. Especially for a quick sketch. You practise?” At first Chanyeol said nothing, but upon understanding what this meant his face darkened and he spluttered, whilst Minseok only raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Desperate to change the subject, Chanyeol blurted, “You don’t come to figure drawing anymore.” An old memory of Minseok wading through the desks in his art classroom, eyes scanning through countless portraits and sculptures and head tilted to the side, bubbled up in Chanyeol’s mind. He remembered always watching him, forgetting himself in tasks and only staring, always staring. Minseok was the best in the class, superior to all of them. He was probably even the teacher’s superior.

“I don’t.” Minseok gave another vague smile. “It’s not the same as before. We used to be encouraged to take on abstract ideas, to take a simple human body and turn it into … anything we wanted. But not anymore.” The word “anymore” he spoke gravely and almost resentfully, and it was punctured.

Chanyeol was fascinated but too shy to ask for him to explain further.

“What are you doing nowadays?”

“We—well,” he stumbled. Minseok watched in a polite silence; and Chanyeol refused to admit to the other that this only made him even more flustered. “There’s some kind of, exception, that the teacher says is coming up. Like a special task—assignment—project, thingy. Um. And she asked us to copy out drawings of images online and use them as inspiration. She said there might be an exhibition for the best ones.”

“Then I’ll see yours at the exhibition,” Minseok smirked, “and see if you are worth it.”

 _Worth what?_ he wondered quietly, then felt someone pull his ankle. Already certain of the culprit he ignored it; then was yanked down completely, sent tumbling into Baekhyun’s lap.

“You’re so rough, cutie,” he heard Baekhyun croon into the side of his face as his ears prickled, and then was pushed aside and climbed onto. Settling in Chanyeol’s lap, Baekhyun was content to end the discussion with Jongdae: “Since we’re both gonna agree our jobs are valid I automatically win. Because I’ve got a job and I’m a dropout and you’ve got a job and you’re not. I win.” Jongdae groaned as Baekhyun punched the air and hooted jubilantly at his success. Then he leaned backwards and to the side to wink at Chanyeol. “Proud of me, Dimples?” he sang, before tweaking one of Chanyeol’s flaming ears and grinning merrily.

Chanyeol only winced.

 

 

The first time Baekhyun gets a call from Jungwon Hospital, he’s alone at home. “Your father was admitted into hospital recently due to the poor state of his lungs. We have located a tumour growing and think it’s best for him to stay here to receive treatment, although unfortunately the possibility of cancer was only recognised recently, in a later stage,” the woman on the phone rattles off the details imperturbably.

“Oh,” is all Baekhyun says.

They explain that he cannot currently speak and he’s not in the best condition at the moment. Then they tell him to have a good day and he hangs up.

A week later, he’s almost forgotten. But then one day he’s naked and on top of some kid who, five minutes into the practice, is already rendered nameless in his mind, and his phone starts ringing again, and when he waddles over—still naked—he pales when he recognises the number. Shamefaced, he picks up the phone, gesturing a little apologetically for the boy to leave. He does, grudgingly, and by then his father’s voice—sick and fading—is wrenching itself out of the device: “Baekhyun? Baekhyun, are you there?”

Baekhyun blinks away tears rapidly. “Hello, Dad.”

“Baekhyun, how are you?”

He feels like choking; his throat tastes of rust and muddied blood. He stuffs his fist into his mouth then removes it quickly and answers as coolly as possible, “I’m fine, Dad. Are you getting better?”

There is the alarming sound of coughing, terrifying in fact, his father’s bloodstained lungs struggling and fighting to climb out of his mouth and be choked out. Baekhyun pictures them involuntarily—chopped up, in shreds, peeling, wilting, soaked in black blood.

He wriggles uncomfortably, far too aware of the sweat on his back and the chill in the room. He still hasn’t put on a shirt. “Dad, are you okay?” The question is stupid and he hates himself for asking it. He hates himself—period.

“I’ll get better.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.” He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows a sob. A sigh of relief pushes its way from his throat.

The stench of blood is getting stronger. It’s like it’s coming out of the phone. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about, Baekhyun,” he feels his dad smile through the phone, and then the call is cut short, and Baekhyun stares in fury at his phone which has switched itself off. _No battery._

He wants to hurl it at the wall. He wants to scream. He wants to throw up.

He wants to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank youu for reading!! sorry for the dramatic ending lmao anyway bai


	3. chanyeol has a rival

“I’ve been thinking,” Baekhyun abruptly announced, twirling the stalk of an apple in his fingertips and gazing at it intently, “about going on a diet or something.”

Chanyeol looked over, puzzled, at where Baekhyun reclined in one of the chairs in the café, his legs stretched out and pressed against the bottom of another seat. His plate, overflowing with brownies and cookies and slices of cake, howled with laughter at the statement, vacant of any commitment. Jongdae had a similar expression etched onto his face as he wiped down the counter, which Minseok, who only blinked his round eyes, leaned against. Jongdae’s aunt, Chanyeol thought, must have been inside her office, a small stuffy room with walls caked in posters of her favourite K-Pop group, PLANET or something—probably on the phone as she always was. Jongdae complained all the time about her “laziness” and “refusal to cooperate”. “I mean, she owns the place though?” Chanyeol offered whenever the other whined about it. But all _he_ ever got in response was a glare.

Chanyeol continued to stare at Baekhyun now. “Why would you think about doing that?” he exclaimed, and flushed at how naïve and young he suddenly sounded. Minseok smiled, although Chanyeol almost didn’t notice, and Jongdae gave a sort of look.

Baekhyun’s face looked like it was glowing. His mouth stretched into a beam and before Chanyeol could do anything he pounced and cuddled him tightly, ignoring his habitual complaining and the fact he’d almost knocked not one, but two chairs over in the process. “My lovely Dimples.” He ruffled his hair. “I wouldn’t ever lose weight if it meant I wasn’t cuddly enough for you.”

“You’re like a rock,” Jongdae snorted, and Baekhyun purred.

“Yeah, but a cuddly rock. _Dimples’_ cuddly rock.” Chanyeol’s groans became muffled as he hid his tomato-red face in his hands, humiliated.

When he seemed to finally be satisfied, Baekhyun disentangled himself from his aggravated roommate and returned to his seat. The golden light from the window, the light of early morning, slid over his face which twinkled as he sat, stretched out his little legs and kicked them around a bit, humming.

The humming seemed to spark something in Jongdae, whose eyes glittered and body juddered. He cleared his throat eagerly and waved an arm as though he was desperately flagging a taxi, or it had suddenly caught fire. “There’s a songwriting competition coming up soon,” he notified his friends brightly, but the sun on his face quickly blew out when Baekhyun’s immediate response was only a groan.

“Baek, _please_ , I worked so hard on this,” he pleaded as the other shook his head aggressively; “it took me weeks, weeks to write! Please man, you only need to sing it, it’s called, ‘Touch—’” he stopped when Minseok glowered, laughing nervously. “Alright— It’s alright. I have, have plenty other stuff. Of course I do.” Minseok pursed his lips and squinted at his hand but said nothing.

“Then what can I, what am I supposed to do, then, huh?” Jongdae went on, wailing. “If Aunt won’t even let me have karaoke nights in here, in this freaking dump!”

Baekhyun frowned. “But karaoke is singing.”

“It’s still a step closer to what I’m going for. And anyway, I like both.”

“Then why don’t you just sing yourself?” Chanyeol questioned him, cynical when he only went quiet.

Puzzled, the two glanced over at Minseok, who translated meticulously: “He’s shy.”

Baekhyun flung his head back and exploded. _“Shy?”_ he echoed, tears sprouting from his widened eyes as Jongdae turned very, very red. “That why you can’t have karaoke nights? Scared you’ll freeze or something?”

Surprising them all, Minseok spoke up again. “His aunt said it would repel customers,” he giggled, grinning as both boys erupted into hysterics, Baekhyun almost plummeting from his chair as he clutched at his stomach and whooped.

Enraged, Jongdae turned on Minseok and yelled incomprehensibly, only to send them into a frenzy—so his final message was just to stamp his foot on the ground like an upset child and stare daggers at them, before storming out of the room and slamming the door to the staff toilets as loudly as he could.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol rubbed at his eyes and yawned, then trailed his hand behind him and, clenching it into a fist, hammered it into his back and groaned, throwing his head back. The sun was heavy and burdensome, and glowering. He swore at it and wished his apartment was closer; wished the stationary shop wasn’t so far, wished he’d majored in something else. Why art? Why didn’t he learn the drums like he’d always wanted to, or taken up singing like Baekhyun? Well, Baekhyun didn’t do singing as a major or anything— But his voice, his voice was still that of an angel’s, his voice was still something to treasure and gape at. Why wasn’t he an idol? He had the looks, the confidence, and the—

In the distance, there came the muffled noise of a rusty gate swaying open and close; Chanyeol grimaced at the sound. The sun beat down harder as he strained—sneered and jeered as he staggered and let out an injured howl when he finally reached the apartment door. He fished around in his pocket for his keys then paused as he felt a shadow pass over him. Turning, he observed the gloom and griminess of the sun in a window close by, and bit his lip. Finally he found his keys and dug the one with the sticker of a winking emoji that Baekhyun had plastered onto it into the keyhole; twisted; and ventured inside.

The sound of laboured weeping and sniffling drilled into his surroundings as he entered, like a savage razor drenched in snot, and at the sight of a phone, which he immediately recognised as Baekhyun’s, in crumbs on the ground, he dropped his bag of supplies onto the ground and sprinted into his roommate’s bedroom; his own; and lastly, followed the wounded noises to the bathroom.

Baekhyun had his back pressed against the bathtub and head buried in his lap as he choked out one strangled sob after the other, legs tangled and hands pressed against his face. He peeked out from behind one palm and spat.

Chanyeol hung over him like an umbrella.

“Look at me, Dimples,” Baekhyun sniffed, peeling his hands away from his puffy, red face. “I’m jobless, a high school dropout, fuck … I’m a disappointment, aren’t I? I whittle away my days posing naked in front of stupid horny kids or _fucking_ those stupid horny kids …  I’m basically a prostitute, aren’t I, Dimples?” Startling the other, he let out a shaky laugh laced with malice, the tremor tearing through his chest. “I should start asking them to pay, shouldn’t I? ‘The price ain’t too bad for a blow, good sir. Oh, something else? A bit costly, sir, but I could offer you…’—” His words dwindled into silence when he finally seemed to realise Chanyeol had put his large hands over his ears and shut his eyes half-way through his monologue. Baekhyun sighed and reached out to gently pluck his hands away, and Chanyeol opened his eyes.

“You’re, you’re upset,” Chanyeol managed, and Baekhyun scoffed, although the sound was not _totally_ unpleasant.

“No shit.”

“You shouldn’t—” He bit his lip; grappled with his muddled thoughts. Baekhyun eyed him, his own barely open, and for a few moments Chanyeol was completely and utterly stumped for ideas. When he eventually remembered how to speak, he only succeeded in croaking: “Do you want to pay the Married Couple a visit, or something? It might … do you good.”

And to his mixed relief and surprise, Baekhyun smiled. “Can’t ever reject any suggestions _you_ make, Dimples,” he yielded, and Chanyeol flushed, feeling both incredibly relieved and embarrassed at the same time.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

A few minutes later, after Chanyeol had helped Baekhyun as best as he could to clean himself up, the smaller wandered after his giant companion into his bedroom to change, still knuckling absentmindedly at his swollen eyes and sniffing. He scuttled onto the bed and engulfed himself in the blankets and duvet, an overgrown pillow balanced on top of his head as he watched Chanyeol pull out his phone from his pocket and text the Married Couple a notification of their visit.

He rubbed his nose; wiped it with the back of his hand. His eyes slid downwards. “Your ass is getting bigger.”

Chanyeol snorted. “Thanks.”

Baekhyun beamed at him. And then he sneezed and the pillow on his head slid downwards and dropped beside him.

“Don’t get your germs on my bed.”

“ _Our_ bed, Dimples—”

“Oh, don’t even _try_ me with your bullshit, Byun Baekhyun, I swear to fucking—”

Baekhyun snickered loudly and then began to hiccup and titter hysterically as Chanyeol shook his head, irritated, and stormed off into the bathroom. Then he straightened, inhaled suddenly, and forced down a loitering memory of a phone call he’d gotten half an hour earlier. Determined, he breathed in once more—slower—and stood; his attention he now focused on the closet in front of him.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

When Chanyeol returned to his bedroom Baekhyun was nowhere to be seen. His immediate response was a profound sigh of relief, until it was overwhelmed for a moment by a strong sense of suspicion. He paused and looked about him, searching for the source of this discomfort; but finding nothing, no matter how much he squinted or how hard he concentrated.

Abandoning all traces of scepticism, he merely shrugged and headed over to his closet, beginning to leaf through it and humming softly to himself—until, all of a sudden, he stopped; frowned. “I swear I had a…” Trailing off, he shook his head, turned, and stalked out of the room. He knocked loudly on Baekhyun’s door, huffing. When no answer came, he tutted in disbelief and allowed himself inside anyway … only to nearly dart back out again:

Baekhyun smiled sweetly as a scream lodged itself in Chanyeol’s throat, his eyes wide at the sight of Baekhyun wearing one of his favourite sweatshirts as well as only a pair of colourful boxers, and nothing else. He averted his eyes quickly, enraged at how hot his ears had gotten already and how they palpably blazed, too obvious for Baekhyun to overlook—although he never did overlook anything Chanyeol-related, and especially anything he could use against him.

“Baek,” Chanyeol began, slowly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground, “what are you doing?”

The response was sassy, offhand and immediate. “Er, changing?”

Chanyeol narrowed his eyes; clenched his teeth.

“And whose jumper is that?”

Baekhyun batted his curly, pretty eyelashes innocently; he placed one finger on his bottom lip, teased at it, tilted his head and pretended to ponder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Chanyeol chuckled, plucking his eyes from the floor now that he was no longer embarrassed. “Oh, you _definitely_ know what I’m—”

“And besides, Dimples,” Baekhyun ignored him, fiddling conspicuously with this sweatshirt he wore but did not own, so obviously wanting to provoke Chanyeol and in the process confirming that he totally knew what he’d done and what he was doing; “if you wanted to see me naked so bad, you should’ve just asked, but it’d be nice if next time if you didn’t barge in here like that—you scared me a bit.”

The thought of ever _wanting_ to see Baekhyun naked, actually actively longing to see him with no clothes on, to want to see his … _bits_ voluntarily and wistfully, made Chanyeol’s entire body heat up and disintegrate into a sad puddle of soot and ash. “I have to see you posing naked on a weekly basis,” he retorted sourly. “And naked while fucking some other naked dude even more frequently than that.”

“Didn’t you reassure me, the first time we met, that you weren’t a homophobe?” Baekhyun drawled, infuriatingly.

“I’m not. I’m just against walking in every other day only to find some stranger ramming his, his _stuff_ into _your_ face in the middle of my fucking living room—”

_“Our—”_

Chanyeol stabbed a finger at Baekhyun’s jumper, fuming. He’d had enough. “Take. It. Off. Now _._ ”

Baekhyun smirked. “Hey, that was kinda sexy, Dim—”

_“Now.”_

Finally Baekhyun decided to stop bothering him—pouting but obeying nonetheless. Chanyeol scowled as he slipped out of the sweatshirt and handed it over with the false pretence of someone who’d done absolutely no wrong, before whirling round and returning to his room without another word.

Not long after the exchange, Baekhyun re-entered Chanyeol’s bedroom in a pale shirt and ripped, faded jeans as well as a grey cardigan that didn’t fit him at all—the sleeves hung down his bony wrists, the entire thing loose and drowning him; and yet it still managed to look regular, as though it were something he often wore and without question owned. Still, he looked, as he always did, unbearably tiny. Chanyeol also couldn’t help but wonder why the cardigan looked, albeit vaguely, personally familiar: when had Baekhyun started to make a habit of stealing Chanyeol’s clothes?

Shaking his head, he pressed his lips together and circled back to focus his attention elsewhere. He dug through his things and found his raspberry hair gel, started to apply it carefully, unaware of the other boy’s rapt gaze—until Baekhyun’s eyes had drifted over to Chanyeol’s wall-length mirror and out of nowhere he let out a prolonged, deliberate whine.

“As if things weren’t bad enough already, I think I’m getting a bit pudgy, Dimples,” Baekhyun puckered his lips and peered at the mirror in front of him, poking his invisible tummy.

Chanyeol sighed, choosing for some reason to take pity on his friend. “You’re not pudgy. You’re perfect,” he found himself smiling faintly, then twisted his flaring face away when Baekhyun flashed back a grin with ease.

“Thanks, but I already know that,” the little rascal sang, ruffling Chanyeol’s hair when he noticed his horrified expression. “Just wanted to hear you say it.” Chanyeol groaned and tried to get away, but when Baekhyun bounded onto his back and giggled Chanyeol could only give in, sighing exasperatedly and carrying him on his back out of the dorm as Baekhyun whooped and cheered and buried his face into his broad back.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Jongdae produced from his pocket a piece of paper which he unfolded several times, a grin plastered across his face even as he flailed comically. Bored, Baekhyun paid no heed to his friend’s struggling and instead continued to count how many times he could make Chanyeol flush in a single get-together (so far, six times; he was aiming for at least thirteen, and he was completely convinced that he’d accomplish this without a problem); whereas Minseok was engrossed in a small mountain of colourful sweet wrappers piled in his lap. He picked at them quietly, turned them over and examined them with wide, pinched eyes. Then he began to arrange them carefully, until there was a cavalry of sweets ordered uniformly before him.

When at last Jongdae turned back to the others, his partner gave a small clicking noise which jerked the others to attention, both blinking rapidly and observantly at Jongdae who still grinned like some lunatic. “Well, I was thinking—if I was to have a Chinese name, what would I pick? And,” he stopped to wave around the long, long list of scribbles excitedly whilst no one else even batted an eyelash, “and I found some seriously, seriously _great_ ones.”

“‘Some.’” Baekhyun’s mouth threatened to bend into a smirk, but he composed himself smartly.

“Some—although I’ve got a favourite.” Jongdae’s elated tone heightened as he jabbed excitedly at a particular scrawl: drawn in bold, smudged with cheap yellow highlighter and underlined painstakingly five times. Chanyeol and Baekhyun responded with identical cocked brows. Minseok smiled a little but it disintegrated quickly and then he was toying around with a chartreuse-coloured sweet wrapper. “I really like ‘Chen’. I think it’s—” He halted himself, clearly annoyed, as Baekhyun, no longer able to contain himself, snorted loudly. “What?” he fired defensively.

“Isn’t that a girl’s name?” Baekhyun sniggered, his ignorance vivid and amusing.

Jongdae groaned as Chanyeol cracked a grin. “Oh for the love of— It’s a _unisex_ name, for your information.”

“Then it’s a girl’s name.”

“Are you seriously—”

Amidst their bickering, Chanyeol couldn’t help but be transfixed by the one who sat in the corner of the room, who busied himself now as he carefully peeled open the wrapper of a square, a small pink tongue swiping at his bottom lip as his eyes narrowed in concentration and his head dipped. When the job was finished and the sweet chewed, the wrapper was placed with just as much precision donated to the act of peeling it off at first, placed alongside the others tidily and purposefully.

For no reason he was aware of, Chanyeol decided to ask Minseok what his Chinese name was. After all, the Married Couple did literally everything together. And it wasn’t just Jongdae who’d slaved away all those years learning the language: Minseok, too, was fluent—if not even better at speaking the language than the other. And above all, their families knew each other well, and last time he checked, Chanyeol was sure both had Chinese relatives.

The impact of Chanyeol’s question instigated a short pause—one peculiar yet intrigued.

And then Minseok, never quickening his characteristic sluggish pace, raised his eyes, to address not only Chanyeol, but all who sat in the dormitory, and perhaps even others beyond the room itself. “Xiumin,” he announced, the name slipping off his tongue prettily and like honey. Naturally, as though it was really the name etched onto his birth certificate.

After several moments of silent admiration had passed, Baekhyun was the one to give an impressed noise. “Hm. Actually suits you.”

Jongdae immediately beamed and agreed proudly, “It does.”

“This isn’t going to be like the whole superpowers thing right?” The three others in the room looked over curiously at Chanyeol, who’d asked the question. His face coloured sheepishly, and he ducked his head. “When Jongdae thought it would be really cool if he could pick a superpower for himself and he forced everyone else to join in?”

Jongdae puffed out his cheeks, his good mood diminishingly quickly. “Uh, _no_. I didn’t ‘force’ anybody. You guys loved the superpowers idea! And you all said it was cool!”

“It wasn’t cool at all,” Baekhyun proclaimed, to which Jongdae responded looking extremely, _extremely_ affronted, his knee jiggling up and down frantically.

“Um, excuse me! You’re seriously going to pretend like you weren’t committed to the whole thing? How dare you lie, and how dare you mock the best idea I’ve ever gotten in my life! You loved the superpowers idea!”

“If _that_ was the best idea I could ever come up with,” Baekhyun sneered, dismissing Jongdae’s twitching mouth and darkened cheeks, “then I’d be ashamed of myself.”

Jongdae raised a quivering finger and inhaled deeply; Chanyeol and Minseok braced themselves, whilst Baekhyun courageously welcomed the impact:

Jongdae screamed, “ _You should already be ashamed of yourself!_ How dare you make fun of, m-make fun of me! You’re one to talk, seriously! You can’t even treat a boyfriend with the—the respect and, and kindness he deserves!”

“He wasn’t even my boyfriend,” Baekhyun shot back, unmoved; except Chanyeol caught it. It was faint, but he caught it.

His eyes narrowed to slits.

“ _See!_ Poor Oh Sehun, you really did mess with him, didn’t you? Even after I warned you! Again and again I warned you! Now watch what’ll happen, watch—”

Minseok extended his pinkie finger, slid it into Jongdae’s palm, compelling the “Sunflower” of the two to cut himself off and swallow with difficulty. He enclosed his hand around the finger and pulled it down into his lap, narrowing his eyes at the ground.

“You don’t seem to care all that much, Baekhyun?” Minseok mused, one eyebrow arched.

“Nope,” Baekhyun sang, not only acknowledging the fact, but relishing in it.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

“Art using the body.”

Chanyeol drew in a deep breath; deflated.

 _Art using the body?_ Well of course it was going to use the body, Chanyeol mocked privately—this was figure drawing class, wasn’t it?

Against his own will, he began to panic. Figure drawing, the exception was announced in _figure drawing_. They’d had plenty other exceptions before, sure, but never in figure drawing: pottery; printing; designing; sculpting … all those classes and more, many more—

But _never_ —

“You may select one model each to complete the project,” their teacher went on. Chanyeol felt Baekhyun’s eyes drilling holes into his neck and he sighed, predicting his fate with ease and acknowledging that there would be no way to escape it. “As with every ‘exception’ we announce, the best product will be exhibited. You may have realised already but this is our first time introducing this concept in figure drawing, but since many of you major in art here I take that most are aware of the expectations.” She smiled stiffly and bowed. “Please choose your model now and the best of luck to you all.”

From across the room, Chanyeol saw Kai (or Jongin, as he personally knew him) stride confidently towards his target, back straight and body gleaming and tan. He was the second most attractive model in figure drawing, with his broad and robust physique and jawline from the heavens and face that could murder. But upon decelerating and concluding his journey at Do Kyungsoo’s side, this impression of one muscular and masculine withered—as his face broke into a sunny beam with his sparkling teeth baring and cheeks faintly flushed in his somewhat juvenile demeanour, and he suddenly appeared very small and endearing next to Do Kyungsoo, of all the people.

The two had started dating a month or two after Chanyeol and Kyungsoo had joined figure drawing (they’d both had the same teacher in a class they often sketched and painted in, and she’d begged them to join her figure drawing class; Kyungsoo had accepted immediately and, seeing it was now crucial to do the same, Chanyeol decided not to turn down the offer) and were second only to the Married Couple in the school’s list of most inseparable couples. Like the Married Couple, the shorter of the two had the most power—although the contrast here was much clearer and more startling, with little round Kyungsoo on the one hand and gigantic, muscled fuckboy (he wasn’t; but he definitely looked like one) Jongin on the other. Looks were deceiving, though, especially with these two: Kyungsoo could probably murder, and Chanyeol remembered clearly a time Jongin had cried because he’d stepped on an ant.

Baekhyun had magically appeared out of nowhere, blinking rapidly and expectantly at Chanyeol, who only signed and gave in without arguing. “Sounds cool, doesn’t it? Who would’ve thought—that exception or whatever you kept shitting yourself about, we’re gonna be working together on it!” Baekhyun prattled. _‘We’re’ not going to be ‘working together’ on anything,_ Chanyeol thought darkly, but wasn’t given the time to voice this aloud as Baekhyun carried on chatting bullshit recklessly. “Was pretty vague wasn’t she? Jeez. But anyway, so, I was thinking…”

Once again Chanyeol’s eyes floated over to where Jongin smiled softly at Kyungsoo, who was busying himself with staring absorbedly at his equipment and probably trying to think up ideas himself ( _himself_ , alone, the artist, not the model, not together)—but each time Kyungsoo glanced at him, the life model masked his affection with serious expressions, so that Kyungsoo nodded in approval and could concentrate peacefully, and undisturbed.

Chanyeol noticed that Kyungsoo had selected the fairly easy option of merely sketching and (by the looks of it) also using watercolour or acrylic, but understood he’d have to nail it in order to get an excellent score, and—knowing Do Kyungsoo—he probably would, being a top competitor in the field of skill in their art classes. He’d probably first picked up a paintbrush when he was three, and it was fair to assume he’d maybe sculpted his first statue at four and a half.

Speaking of sculpting, that sounded like the best plan for Chanyeol at the moment. Given that it was their first “exception” in figure drawing class, and recounting Minseok’s impressed look at his sketch and his words regarding the exhibition, Chanyeol was set rigidly on the idea which he was certain was not going to fail him. Minseok had said something about … abstract, hadn’t he? If Minseok wanted abstract, he decided, then he’d give him abstract. He would blow Kim Minseok away—and to do that, he needed to challenge himself, with the biggest challenge of all.

Somewhere nearby, he heard someone scoff. “Say goodbye to any nights of sleep,” the voice jeered as he set several slabs of rock and clay and some paper to design on in front of him.

He smirked at the table, shook his head; because that, he had already done, long ago.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

One of the few times Baekhyun had ever found a job and been selected for an interview—one of the few, few times—the poor interviewer had unsuspectingly and unwittingly asked him what he liked to do in his free time. And Baekhyun, being Baekhyun, had tossed his head back, snorted and shrieked with laughter, choked on his own spit, slapped the table, and snorted, “Get some dick up my ass, what else?”

He’d never gotten another interview after that, for any job he ever managed to find, as far as Chanyeol was concerned.

The story had entertained the hell out of his three friends, who’d roared and wept incredulously when he told them, and as a result a competition was announced—to see who could go the longest without swearing. As expected, Baekhyun failed immediately, after several hours. The fact that he was the first to lose, and after such a short amount of time, although unsurprising, was hilarious to the others since the entire idea had been inspired by his remarkable tale. Bad-tempered because of their enjoyment, Baekhyun thus took it upon himself to annoy Chanyeol as often as possible so that two days later Chanyeol screamed out an enraged, “Can you just shut the FUCK up already,” and he was the second to lose, miserable and indignant at his failure and especially the cause of it. Minseok accidentally muttered a curse four days after Chanyeol’s loss, exposed brutally by Jongdae who’d hurried into their dorm and hollered the news of his apparent win … only for Minseok to tackle him to the ground and cry out feverishly—“You were the one who was cursing and begging me last night, you stupid motherfucking traitorous cunt! ‘Harder— _fuck_ , fuck me, fuck me _harder_ ’—”

The boys’ descent from civility and courteousness had shocked them all equally, Chanyeol flushing uncomfortably at Minseok’s startling imitation and the atrocious noises he made and gestures with his fingers and hands, and even Baekhyun’s eyes widened in amazement.

After that, it was more or else rare for anybody to put forward these kinds of challenges.

Recently, though, someone had suggested an experiment to investigate who out of the four could go the longest without sleep. Minseok was particularly irritated at the positive outcome—they’d all agreed, and now Chanyeol was starting to think it was probably Jongdae who’d proposed the competition, since it was always either him or Baekhyun behind these sorts of things—and went to bed early, in fact, that night. Jongdae called him petty, and both Baekhyun and Chanyeol were certain Minseok had heard because Jongdae’s throat was hoarse the next day and he kept massaging his neck and wincing whenever he talked, eyes darting every now and then to Minseok’s face, pupils quaking. _He choked him, didn’t he?_ Baekhyun had grinned at Chanyeol, who shrugged and sniggered. It hadn’t been the first time something like this had happened; and it wouldn’t be the last.

Since they all had to be alert in case someone cheated and dozed off for a second, they all sat in the living room—minus Minseok—staring fixedly at each other and waiting to catch somebody out. Sometimes a car door was slammed outside or a dog barked; Jongdae jolted each time, Baekhyun grimacing also, but Chanyeol remained frozen and tranquil throughout. A task like this was agonising for someone like Jongdae who cherished sleep—but Chanyeol, being an expert in the field of losing out on a night’s rest, had won in the end, to no one’s surprise.

Now Chanyeol doubted the presumption that it’d been Jongdae to come up with the idea: hadn’t it been Baekhyun, he now wondered? Because, when the smaller of the two had finally caved in to sleep, moaning and stretching, Chanyeol remembered something like him looking over at him groggily, smiling, and whispering: _“I knew you could do it, my beautiful Dimples … Proud of you…”_

Chanyeol had blushed and coughed, itching at his ear and looking ahead at Baekhyun’s bedroom door closed firmly. Jongdae had gone in to sleep beside Minseok, who had been given permission to sleep there with a knowing smirk from Baekhyun. It was usually that way: The Married Couple were always the first out of the four to become exhausted after a night of drinking and dares, and thus it was customary for them to sleep in Baekhyun’s bedroom and for Baekhyun to sleep beside Chanyeol in his bed, much to that little shit’s delight.

Sighing wearily, Chanyeol stole forwards and tugged baekhyun lightly; and when he wouldn't wake up, already consumed by a deep sleep (or, pretending to be, for a very specific reason)*, Chanyeol scratched the back of his head, yawned, and lifted his roommate in his arms, cradling him tentatively and carrying him off dutifully, kicking open the door of his bedroom and letting it slowly shut behind them as he peered about him. In the murkiness of the unlit room, Chanyeol felt for his bed and, finding it, bent and lowered Baekhyun tenderly, assisting him in fiddling in his sleep so he could be slipped under the covers.

*(You might’ve guessed already, but getting carried into Chanyeol’s room bridal-style was, in fact, this specific reason.)

Finally the job was done. Chanyeol patted himself on the back, nestled into the bed beside his friend, and placed his arms behind his head.

In truth, he could probably stay awake for days. For weeks. Forever. But the sight of Baekhyun at peace like this, cuddling Chanyeol’s toy to his chest as always with his usual innocent fondness, and with his eyes shut and body curved vaguely, Chanyeol—hypnotised—felt himself being cast adrift, into the realm of slumber, the image permanent in his mind; blazing, glowing, alight.

He’d had a dream of Baekhyun that night—lying in a pool of darkness, his body curled and slanted in sleep and lips parted slightly and eyes fastened shut. Cheeks flushed; skin bare and smooth. There were violet lights dancing over his body, sliding over his skin, drenching him—violet, like, almost exactly like, the violet of Chanyeol’s lava lamp, in his bedroom. Splashing over him, his naked skin. It wasn’t a … _sexual_ dream, or anything like that. It was only beautiful, majestic and captivating.

Like art.

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol’s cheeks were two slices of sallow limes as from a distance he watched, incensed, Baekhyun pat Kyungsoo’s small round head with immense affection. “Hey, Chestnut,” he heard his friend buzz, bobbing up and down and looking incredibly stupid, like the two-timing brat he was.

While Chanyeol you could say was only semi-close to fellow artist Do Kyungsoo, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo _excruciatingly_ close. Baekhyun had made many friends in their figure drawing class, the infamous Kai or Kim Jongin being one example, and Kyungsoo, his boyfriend, being another. Kyungsoo reminded Chanyeol of Minseok in various ways, such as his round eyes and petite body and the intimidating air he always carried with him, except Kyungsoo’s eyes were rounder and he had a small shaved head so people thought they could pick on him and he wouldn’t fight back, but oh boy, were they wrong about that. Those who made the mistake of picking on him always eternally regretted it, and it would never stop being a pleasure to watch that realisation sink in. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo had only exchanged a few words on several occasions but never went to extreme lengths of friendship; and there was no way Chanyeol hated or disliked Do Kyungsoo in any way, except that Kyungsoo’s artistic ability was extraordinary similar to his. They had been in one art class together previously and still were, and their teacher of that class was their teacher here. For a long time they’d competed for the top spot in that class and here in figure drawing too, and this therefore made Kyungsoo a rival. But to make matters worse, a rival Chanyeol’s best friend cooed over 24/7 and a rival _Baekhyun admired_. And this word “admired” referred to the numerous instances where Chanyeol had caught Baekhyun marvelling Kyungsoo’s art skills and complimenting him shamelessly, and even going to the extreme lengths of asking Kyungsoo to _draw him_. Baekhyun always told Chanyeol he was by far his favourite artist, but when he was like this to Do Kyungsoo, Chanyeol could never disguise his fury, or his flaming ears, which he always rubbed at so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t begun to erode.

It wasn’t as if the exclusive nickname _Chestnut_ was bad enough to begin with.

This occurrence that day seemed to peel open old wounds of Chanyeol’s, because that evening when Baekhyun returned home from God-knows-where and flopped onto Chanyeol’s bed and started cooing over him and prodding at him and pouting Chanyeol couldn’t at all find it in him to acknowledge his presence in any way. This seemed to agitate Baekhyun slightly, but instead of continuing his futile attempts to get Chanyeol’s attention, he shrivelled on the bed and hugged his knees and rocked quietly, silently, not uncurling from this position even after Chanyeol mentally counted one, two, five, ten seconds. Usually Baekhyun cracked after a maximum of four.

Now he didn’t.

When Chanyeol looked at him his eyes were puffy. Chanyeol’s mouth curved into a small, surprised, concerned ‘o’. He timidly reached out and stroked Baekhyun’s palm with one stubby finger, biting his bottom lip. And then, after racking his brains for a few moments, he offered the only solution his brain could conjure: “Do you want to go out for some ice cream?”

 

 

On the third week of Baekhyun’s residence at his new home, Baekhyun takes it upon himself to try to get closer to Park Chanyeol. It’s not like what he expected, living with him—it’s even _better_. Chanyeol turns out to be even cuter, even sweeter and even more of an awkward mess than Baekhyun thought he would be, stuttering with every praise and creating “rules” so they can both live “comfortably in each other’s company” and taking forever to find a channel on his gigantic TV that he declares entertaining for the two of them to watch together. It’s flattering and unbelievably adorable, and Baekhyun loves it. “This show is kind of boring. Do you want me to switch to a different one?” he might blab, and if Baekhyun shrugs he’ll change the channel almost instantly. “How about this?” and, “This is nice—but, um, there are others, I think, other, let’s see—” and, upon accidentally stumbling upon rather pornographic content on one particular channel, Chanyeol gasps, goes redder than the ripest tomato on earth, and rushes to switch the channel whilst almost shrieking, “ _Sorry!_ Oh, God, I—sorry, I d-didn’t know that—God, sorry—”

Several days later, Baekhyun is alone in the apartment, flicking through the various channels on TV, and to his amusement, he finds that the channel has been removed.

Living with Park Chanyeol is great, amazing, the best thing to happen to Baekhyun his whole life, but up until this point it’s only been watching TV together and reminding each other about whose turn it is to go shopping for groceries and Baekhyun happily complimenting Chanyeol every now and then to test how scarlet he’ll go. But nothing, nothing more, nothing further than that. He wants to overstep the line and go further and push the boundaries and get deeper and get deeper _into Chanyeol_ —he wants—he’s going crazy—

And so he begins to explore the area better, hungry for more, hungry for opportunities and ways to get his beautiful Dimples wrapped around his finger and wrapped around his—so he goes further, further than the grocery stores and the rest of campus nearby, further. He needs something, something small, he needs to build up to a—

It takes a little more than three weeks, and then he finally finds what he’s looking for: An ice cream place, several streets away. Not too far; perfect for a walk. The place is small and snug, with a large display window revealing multiple ice cream flavours and other desserts, too, mouth-watering treats that make Baekhyun go giddy, his tongue hanging out and dripping with saliva. He pushes inside and has to stop himself from squealing in delight at the _cosiness_ of the place, so inviting and so … so perfect. It’s perfect.

On one of the tables closest to him sits a vase, and inside the vase a purple-coloured flower: a viola. It’s pretty, Baekhyun thinks as he traces the smallest of its petals with his thumb; it’s very pretty.

 

Baekhyun takes more than an hour to change into the most appropriate but attractive outfit he can conjure up in such short notice after Chanyeol accepts eagerly, and all at once the worries start—

_What if he’s changed already? What if he’s done? You took too long too long what if he’s you took too long oh God how embarrassing too long he’s changed he’s changed his mind what if? You took too long—_

Baekhyun breathes in, deeply, sharply, shakily.

He plods towards Chanyeol’s bedroom and notices that the door is not fully closed, a slither of light visible in the small crack where it’s open partially. Taking this as a sign of welcome, he pokes his head around the door and his eyes immediately land on his roommate, who stands in front of his mirror and busies himself kneading his curls with his fingers.

_Knead let me knead my fingers in your knead let me in your please—_

Without thinking, he finds himself blurting out, “You shouldn’t put coconut oil in your hair.” Chanyeol jumps slightly, startled, twisting around with wide eyes that catch Baekhyun’s. Yanking with very faint embarrassment at the hem of his shirt, Baekhyun clears his throat and tries to justify the statement: “Makes it greasy.”

Chanyeol shakes his head and turns away, muttering through gritted teeth, “It’s supposed to make it easier to brush,” and much to his horror, this sends his companion reeling in fits of hysterical laughter.

“You _brush_ it?” he guffaws, and he senses Chanyeol’s spite at the fact he can’t retort, can’t say something like, “And you’re one to judge?” because he is, hell yeah he is, and Chanyeol can’t say anything against this because he remembers in his mind—clear as day—Chanyeol telling him, flushing uncontrollably the entire time, that he thought Baekhyun was one of the best models in the class, and that he really liked the crown of soft silk sitting atop his head and that he sometimes thought it glowed in the sunlight especially when he smiled, and Baekhyun just found himself falling in love over and over again as Chanyeol continued. And who, who could fucking blame him?

Deciding it would be worth it to have some kind of impact on this kid’s life, Baekhyun twists around and heads to the bathroom, rummaging through his things and returning with a bottle of hair gel with a sticker of two raspberries on the front.

“I hope you don’t mind, but it’s not mine,” Baekhyun admits at the sight of Chanyeol’s eyes scanning the bottle sceptically. Those cynical eyes raise and fog in confusion at the blonde boy’s words, and Baekhyun doesn’t notice how he tugs at his sleeve sheepishly when he continues, “Well, guys sometimes leave stuff behind after … So. Yeah. I don’t know who it belongs to. Belonged to.” He swallows, and feels a pang of relief detonate in the pit of his stomach when Chanyeol reacts only minimally, nodding and returning his gaze back to the bottle which he turns over in his giant hands and squints at. Relief, and incredulity, the same feeling of incredulity he always gets, keeps getting, when he marvels at how Chanyeol so completely lacks the capacity to judge, to judge him—because who wouldn’t? And who would—who would do the same as Chanyeol? Let a stranger into his house; agree to make up the stupidest lie for no sufficient reason other than the flat-screen TV in his living room; keep him even after an unwanted kiss on the lips; only redden and hide away consequent to returning home and finding his new roommate making out with a stranger’s dick on his couch…

Who would, other than Park Chanyeol?

Suddenly Baekhyun is so thankful, so touched, so enthralled. So _in love_. He smiles, and when he gathers that the altercation is over and it’s safe to leave, he rotates, only to skid to a halt when Chanyeol pipes up behind him—“And what do you use?”

Baekhyun just about cackles in response. “Nothing at all,” he smirks, and Chanyeol only watches with those beautiful wide eyes.

“You smell like strawberries, though.”

“Perfume,” he clarifies simply. And then he turns and drifts away, beaming.

 

 

This was the smell in Baekhyun’s hair now, with his head buried in Chanyeol’s chest as he wept, cheeks gleaming with the sheen of tears and nose pink and polished. Chanyeol clutched at him in tender shock, one hand in his sweet-smelling hair and the other pressing him tightly against him to muffle his sobs so he wouldn’t be embarrassed if anybody came near. They sat in the corner of the ice cream shop but Baekhyun had refused to leave when he’d begun snivelling, and now their ice creams were propped glumly and deserted on the edge of their table as the two remained detached from the entire scene around them.

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol murmured softly, trying not to pull away completely. “Baekhyun, please—can you tell me why you’re upset? Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Baekhyun’s body went cold and stiff against him; he whimpered faintly.

A tear trickled down his face.

Chanyeol reached out and wiped it away.

“High school dropout, prostitute—”

 _Not this again,_ Chanyeol thought, but did not say. He hugged him close and patted his head as Baekhyun snuffled.

“I, they—Sehun, Oh Sehun.” He sniffed. “His sister and her friends. They … the same age, as me, they— It’s shameful, they tell me, I’m shameful. Pathetic. My job. I leech off a millionaire’s son for a place to stay and to pay its rent and _sex_ , they think. They don’t, they don’t know … I’m disgusting—”

“You’re not—”

“Loser, _pathetic_. My body is money, my stupid penis is what I gain my money from and how much money? Practically, practically _nothing_. All that for nothing. Shame and disgrace … My only friends— They, people like them”—he hiccupped—“I should be friends with—”

“No, Baek—” Chanyeol pleaded.

“But I’m only friends with _kids_ ,” he spat, shaking, “‘friends’, friends with little _kids_ , children, and sluts, and strangers—”

“Baekhyun, Baekhyun—please— _stop_.”

His words sliced into the silence. He swallowed; panted.

Slowly, Baekhyun’s round, glossy eyes lifted to meet Chanyeol’s, his small lips pale, his cheeks pudgy, button nose pink, and Chanyeol had to hold his breath to stop himself from whispering, _You’re beautiful._ “Dimples,” Baekhyun breathed. He let his head fall back into the other’s chest, which went taut at his confession—“I only have you.”

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Baekhyun skipped along the cobblestone path, giggling and waving his strawberry ice cream around in the air, gleefully.

Chanyeol squinted and tried to keep up without breaking into a sprint, panting a little as he howled, “Baek—slow down! If you run like—that, you’ll fall!”

“No I won’t,” Baekhyun crooned, his nose stuck up in the air as he laughed merrily and twirled.

The honey-coloured trees around them chuckled with him and leaned in, reaching out to steal licks from their ice creams. The sky was bright and blue and sparkled, decked with only a few clouds—wads of cotton, edged with lilac swirls—traversing slothfully and bowing politely to the brilliant, beaming sun.

Baekhyun spun.

“You’re concentrating very hard, aren’t you?” he remarked breathlessly, observing Chanyeol’s expression.

“I’m on the lookout for ideas,” Chanyeol elucidated, and he nodded, following the giant’s eyes to the vivid sky.

He bit into his cone messily, staining his lips with the rosy hue of his ice cream. Chanyeol defied a prickling urge to wipe it away with his thumb, and so stuffed his hand into his pocket and blushed, licking his own ice cream. The pleasing taste of rainbow sherbet smudged away his discomforting thoughts and he squinted in the blinding sunlight.

Baekhyun shielded his eyes and peered up at Chanyeol from underneath his free hand. “You’re gonna lose out on more sleep now, aren’t you?”

Chanyeol’s lips thinned and his eyes chased a flock of birds overhead. “What was that, you mentioned early? About leeching?” he switched the subject.

Caught red-handed, Baekhyun was forced to blink rapidly. “Leeching? Doesn’t know what she’s on about—”

“Really?” Chanyeol tapped his chin. “Actually, when was the last time you payed our rent in full, Byun Baekhyun?”

The fair-haired boy groaned. “You know my situation, Dimples!” he exclaimed, gesturing in frustration. His ice cream shrieked and threatened to slip from his grip; but he still managed to grasp it firmly.

Chanyeol pinched his nose. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then please, have sympathy on me! Do you not pity me?” he purred, and Chanyeol knew what was coming and yet he looked anyway, looked and met Baekhyun’s incredibly round, incredibly glossy, incredibly beautiful eyes that blinked as he pouted and tilted his head to the side and—

“ _God_ , Baekhyun!” Chanyeol swatted at him as he cackled and carried on bounding down the pathway precariously.

“Dimples, oh, Dimples,” he sang, spiralling and spinning around so that Chanyeol felt dizzy as he watched, “when will you ever lo— _eek!_ " abruptly he cried out, as he tripped over a loose pebble and dropped to the ground, his poor ice cream tumbling from between his fingers and crumpling beside him. He whined.

Chanyeol yelped and hurried over. “Baekhyun! Ugh, I told you not to run, you—silly!” He knelt beside him and inspected where his jeans had been torn, gingerly drawing open the hole further to hunt for a scratch or cut. “Does it hurt?”

Baekhyun huffed and pointed a finger at where his ice cream lay in the grass, crushed and rumpled. “My ice cream,” he grieved, and Chanyeol sighed.

“Why do you never listen to me, Byun Baekhyun?” He shook his head.

They went silent for several seconds, mourning the loss of Baekhyun’s beloved strawberry ice cream, before Baekhyun reached up and tilted his head to the side. “Carry me?” he proposed shamelessly.

Chanyeol rolled his eyes. “Baek—”

_“Pleaseee—”_

“Baekhyun—”

Clasping his hands together beseechingly, Baekhyun whined, louder, so that people nearby began to stare: “ _Pleaseeeeee_ , Dimples, _pleaseee_ —”

“Oh for the love of— _Fine._ ” Chanyeol shook his head and sighed exasperatedly, bending down and lifting him onto his back.

Baekhyun giggled happily and clapped his hands together in excitement as he kicked his legs about.

Chanyeol squeezed his eyes shut. “Please behave.”

“’Kay,” Baekhyun hummed, and—sighing for the umpteenth time—Chanyeol trekked onwards and carried Baekhyun on his back out of the park.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

“I don’t think your poor ice cream’ll ever forgive you, Byun Baekhyun,” Chanyeol called after Baekhyun as he scrambled up the stairs to their dorm.

“Dimples, have pity on me! I am still in grief,” his voice rang and Chanyeol laughed, shaking his head.

“If I had a penny for how many times you’ve told me that today, Baek. I think we’ve got ice cream in the freezer though. Junmyeon at work, he gave me a few boxes since—” he cut himself off, frowning. His eyes dropped to the keys dangling from his fist.

He started to climb the stairs faster.

“Hey, Baek? Baekhyun—are you already at the door? But—I’ve got the k—”

He stopped.

Baekhyun stood, trembling, before a forest of lofty, menacing shadows, his eyes transparent and mouth agape and body shrivelled.

Their ringleader was the tallest and broadest person Chanyeol had ever laid his eyes on, her lips pressed together and eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up and chin high, high. She loomed over Baekhyun and sneered down at him, seemingly unaware of anybody else around but the petrified mouse withered in front of her.

At first Chanyeol was sure he’d never seen this monster before.

But then Chanyeol blinked—and nearly gasped in dismay.

It was Oh Sehun’s older sister.

“About time you showed up, little piece of shit.” She spat onto the ground.

Baekhyun’s eyes bulged and his pupils shrank as he backed into the wall, paling. “P-please,” he moaned, and Chanyeol—alarmed—realised that, for all his talk and “fierceness”, Baekhyun was still a tiny, helpless puppy, and they were surrounded, and neither of them had ever been in a physical fight before—ever. They couldn’t defend themselves, not against such a large horde of formidable, burly monsters. They couldn’t, they really couldn’t. His eyes darted to their twisted faces and then back to Baekhyun, curled up against the wall, cheeks shiny and wet and bottom lip quivering.

His stomach knotted and he wanted to throw up.

“You little _fucker_ , who do you think you are?” Sehun’s sister snarled at Baekhyun, shaking her fist and jutting her chin. “Who do you think you are, fucking around with my brother? Huh? After what we’ve done for you, huh? My brother may be stupid but I’m not. I know what you are, you fucking _pest_. Now you’re gonna pay, alright?” Baekhyun whimpered. Her eyebrows slipped down her face and she bellowed—“ _Alright?_ Are you mute, you little fucker? Speak up, brat, speak up, speak up before I—”

“Leave him alone,” Chanyeol mumbled feebly, only for the monster to whirl on _him_ instead.

She snorted. “ _You?_ You should be thankful or me. If it wasn’t for me, you and your little boyfriend wouldn’t have the chance to stick your dicks into each other all the time—so be thankful, brat.” She twisted back to Baekhyun, whose back was pasted to the wall behind him. “I could get you evicted, you know,” she sneered, and he slid down the wall as she took one step forwards. Her eyes slithered back to Chanyeol’s. “You too, obviously. Faking an illness—”

Baekhyun put his hands over his ears, wobbled, hissed. “I’m _not_ —”

“And as for _you_ , fucker, you little—”

 _“I’m not SICK!”_ Baekhyun screamed, shattering and stilling the crackling and rustling air around them.

Sehun’s sister shrank away from him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. The group assembled behind her stared at Baekhyun; then at her; and then at Baekhyun again, mouths hanging open.

“Leave him alone,” Chanyeol repeated numbly, tightening his jaw.

The monster’s pupils darted to his face. Her own contorted. “Or what?” she spat, although her voice came out unsteady and without direction.

Then a voice wafted down the hallway, fixed and accusatory—“What’s going on here?”—and all turned to find none other than Do Kyungsoo situated at the doorway of Jongin’s dorm three doors away, his brows furrowed and forehead creased. His eyes skimmed over the crowd and landed on Baekhyun, cowering and crouched in the centre of the mob. Chanyeol stood over him and glanced warily at Kyungsoo, who glowered at Sehun’s sister, his hands fisted and slightly raised. “What are you doing here?”

Perhaps if the atmosphere hadn’t changed and chilled, she would have attempted to swear at him, jeer at him, to pick on little Do Kyungsoo as most big-headed bullies did. But it had changed, and it had chilled. So her only response was to narrow her eyes, turn her back and rasp—“We were just leaving.”

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s eyes locked. “I’d better not see you here again,” Kyungsoo growled at her back, and she froze.

There was a long, strained stretch of silence that dawdled after his threat—in which Kyungsoo bore holes into the girl’s back and everyone watched and held their breaths and waited.

And then Sehun’s sister gritted her teeth, and without responding, began to lead her wide-eyed friends out of the building, her shoulders hunched faintly and eyes nailed to the ground in disgrace.

Jongin’s head poked out of his dorm’s door once they’d dissipated, cheeks smeared with terror and shame, as Chanyeol knelt beside Baekhyun and helped him to his feet, endeavouring to lessen his twitching and whimpering.

“I thought they’d fire her, sooner or later,” Kyungsoo boiled, his eyes latched onto the exit.

Chanyeol lifted his head. He clutched at Baekhyun with caution, his pinkie finger embedded in one of his golden curls. “Thank you,” he breathed, and Kyungsoo nodded. Then the giant’s eyes slid to find Jongin’s curious, anxious ones a few metres away, and he started to open his mouth to suggest a visit for drinks to express his gratitude—but upon noticing that Jongin’s zipper was down and Kyungsoo’s top two buttons were undone, he flushed, smiled and decided to leave them to it.

 

 

Baekhyun had histrionic personality disorder.

Baekhyun had HPD.

Baekhyun loved attention, loved admiration, loved acceptance.

Baekhyun wanted to be attended to, wanted to be admired, wanted to be accepted, _Baekhyun wanted_.

He wanted to be in the centre, under a spotlight, standing before a crowd.

It was more than just a voyeurism kink—more than that—way more—

Baekhyun wanted to be loved and kissed and hugged _and fucked_ and told he was beautiful and told he meant something to someone _to somebody to everyone to_ —

He made sure his hair sparkled, his lips puckered, his nails were nice and neat, his entire being radiated.

He would speak and be heard and smile and be smiled at and be complimented and gawked at and accepted and—

 

He worried if that wasn’t what happened. If no eyes were on him. If someone didn’t attend to him, admire him, accept him. If someone didn’t want him.

_His mother hadn’t wanted him—_

He worried and whined and whimpered and cried.

Cried, cried for days—

_His mother had cried cried for days she hadn’t she hadn’t she never wanted him disappointment disgrace—_

He cried if he wasn’t attended to, admired, accepted.

There wasn’t any other solution he could think of.

Chanyeol knew the real reason why Baekhyun had kept Oh Sehun around longer than everybody else.

 

 

When Baekhyun was thirteen he met the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen in his life, in a park near his house in Bucheon. For a kid, he had long legs and a slender frame, and extraordinary broad shoulders. There were shadows of a forthcoming jawline on his face, jagged yet smooth at the same time with the recognisable taste of adolescence about him—so that even though he towered over Baekhyun and might have looked like an intimidating God, there were still his small, strawberry-flavoured lips, soft-spoken eyes, curled eyelashes and naivety about his infantile expression.

He was a work of art, a bumbling masterpiece that blundered after Baekhyun wherever he went and blushed and played with his hair.

A work of art who, days later, revealed himself as an artist.

He told him to lie in a bed of a flowers as he drew him; he told him to curl one strand of hair around his finger as he painted him; he told him to tug his bottom lip and wink as he sculpted him.

He blushed and said he was beautiful and Baekhyun beamed at him.

He taught him how to hold a paintbrush and said he was a natural and Baekhyun laughed and hugged him.

He showed him how to look at the world from the perspective of an artist, to spy the smallest of details and to peer through cracks, to breathe colour and taste sound and perform magic, and Baekhyun kissed him.

They kissed and became tangled in grass and flowers and tainted with mud and still they kissed.

They kissed and Baekhyun tore at his shirt and Oh Sehun snatched at the buckles of his belt and the wind hissed and the trees trembled and still they kissed.

And then Baekhyun’s mother saw him.


	4. chanyeol kisses back

Having had enough, Chanyeol lowered the menu he gripped tightly in his clammy palms and peered sceptically at Baekhyun from across the dinner table, a frown scratched onto his face. “Baekhyun,” he said, for the second time. The fair-haired boy looked up from his own menu, shoulders slumped and lips pinched. “Why did you beg me to come with you to this rip-off of a restaurant?”

“One of the most famous in South Korea, act—”

“And one of the most expensive?”

Baekhyun flushed. “Well,” he cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically flustered as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt and surveyed their surroundings again and again, apprehensively. “I—kinda need a favour,” he began to confess, unable to hold the other’s steely stare.

But it was then that Chanyeol’s eyes bulged, latching onto a lanky figure nearby, a lanky figure he recognised immediately; a lanky figure with broad shoulders, small pink lips, glittering eyes and long, long legs—suddenly he remembered why the name of the place had sounded so familiar. And not because it was, apparently, famous. _“Baek,”_ —like air being squeezed out of an exhausted tire.

Baekhyun’s head twisted around and Chanyeol thought he heard the sound of an elated drum coming from his chest. He tipped forwards until their noses collided. “Kiss me,” he whispered, and Chanyeol surged backwards, almost toppling out of his seat.

He stared, breathing shallow, incredulous. “ _What_ did you just say?”

“Chanyeol—please—just, _kiss me_.” His eyes flickered; pupils darted in Oh Sehun’s direction then settled back onto Chanyeol’s flushed, burning face.

Chanyeol shook his head rapidly, eyes following Baekhyun’s then dropping to the ground and trembling. Then one finger, quivering almost as much his twitching pupils, slithered upwards and landed on his bottom lip tentatively.

 

 

Chanyeol wonders often, very often, about what prompted—what solidified—his decision to keep Baekhyun. That word, the word “keep”, that makes Baekhyun seem too much like a stray puppy he’d found on the streets; although that is, truly, what he views him as.

Baekhyun, a stranger, appeared out of nowhere, told him they’d now be living together, instructed him to pretend he had an illness, and then kissed him on the lips.

 _Kissed him on the lips._ Just like that.

Yet Chanyeol accepted.

And does he regret? Not really, he kind of—well, he doesn’t. He doesn’t? Why doesn’t he? He should, shouldn’t he?

Because Baekhyun, having Baekhyun around is … nice. He doesn’t know why, but it just is. Baekhyun is cute and small and pretty and handsome, and he’s like the sun on legs even though he whines all the time and knows exactly how to wind Chanyeol up and get whatever he wants like the spoiled brat of a little kid he is, and it’s—it’s not as annoying as Chanyeol expects it to be. Well—it is. Hell yeah it is but … he likes it. He likes Baekhyun. He likes having him around, likes it when he pouts and whines and sings and pokes him and—

_He likes Baekhyun—_

 

 

“What—” Chanyeol whimpered, hating himself for blushing so hard, hating himself. “No, Baekhyun, no, not _again_ —”

He was cut off when Baekhyun yanked at his collar, bringing them close together again, so close he could force a kiss if he wanted to—but he didn’t. “Chanyeol. Quick. If—” He checked behind him and then lowered his voice to a volume Chanyeol never thought possible for somebody like Byun Baekhyun: “If you kiss me, right now, I swear to God, I won’t ever fuck in the living room again. I’ll—have sex in the bedroom, like all you weird people do.”

There was an abrupt pause, consumed by a silence of consideration and shock.

Then, his blood pounding and screaming frenziedly in his ears, he exhaled. “Ugh. Fine. Deal—”

And then they were kissing.

 

 

Jongdae’s mouth twitches as he shakes his head at Baekhyun from across the counter, adding micro-foam to his mocha and clicking his tongue, watching the other gesture frantically and make up endless excuses for himself.

“Listen. I dumped Oh Sehun because he was _extremely_ clingy—and he thought it was real!”

“That’s _low_ , Baek, seriously low—even for you.” Minseok nods gravely, reaching out to stir Jongdae’s coffee for him.

Baekhyun grumbles, and—to express his discontentment—decides to seize a half-eaten muffin from Chanyeol’s grip before it’s even gotten to his mouth. He takes a large bite, unashamedly, and winks at Chanyeol who merely sighs. “I had a point though, right, Dimples?” he virtually whines, although he says it with his mouth full so he could’ve _actually_ said, “I am a boy bow, fight, nipples?” which is what Chanyeol hears.

“You’re going to regret it sooner or later, Baek,” Jongdae huffs, but Baekhyun only rolls his eyes.

“Might as well get that shit tattooed on my face since that’s all you wanna blab about these days, dude.”

“But I’m right!” He narrows his eyes. “Sehun’s sister—you and Channie lied about an illness, a freaking disorder or something, a disorder he’s apparently got—and he doesn’t have it—”

“He _does_ —”

“—and so that’s why you’re sharing a room now. Why you’re—roommates. Since she’s in charge of the, the whatsits—”

“The dormitories,” Minseok chimes in, scrutinising a stain on the counter and wrinkling up his nose.

“Yeah—thanks honey—”

Chanyeol and Baekhyun simultaneously gag.

Jongdae glares. “You started playing around with Oh Sehun again to make, make sure of that. But what”—he stabs a finger accusingly—“is going to happen when she founds out, eh? What’s she going to do with you?”

Baekhyun smiles around his muffin, wiggling it about in front of his face. “Gonna fuck me up,” he hiccups, then finishes the entire thing in one bite, swallowing and then—the portion proving too difficult all of a sudden—choking.

“Serves you right,” Jongdae smirks, staying still as a statue as Chanyeol—alarmed—hastens to the imp’s side and claps his back violently, which only results in even more coughing; satisfied, he sips his mocha, and stretches out comfortably with his back resting against the counter.

 

 

Chanyeol didn’t realise it at first but the kiss was taking far longer than necessary. Oh Sehun had definitely seen by now because Baekhyun’s body was no longer tense, except here was the problem—his body had stopped being tense more than only a few moments ago. Way more than only that.

And then Chanyeol became aware of something terrifying, shocking, and awful.

He was kissing back.

His lips were moving compliantly against Baekhyun’s, tongues hot and wet and lapping over each other—mouths pressed against each other and sliding over each other and Baekhyun’s hands were tangling in his hair and he thought he might be knocked backwards if he didn’t have his hands pressed down on his chair on either side of him—

Upon this realisation, he drew back immediately and started to scream—until he remembered why they were here, what Baekhyun wanted from him, what the situation was; and slapped a hand over his mouth, tearing at the skin of his palm with his teeth and mewling in agony.

Baekhyun was panting, hard, face wet and crimson, eyes wide and sinking to where he noticed he had fucking _crawled onto the table_ during their heated kiss. Sheepish, he retreated carefully, grimacing at the obvious stains on his crotch and all over his trousers, and lowered himself back into his seat opposite the blushing mess that was Park Chanyeol.

Then they both slumped into silence.

Over Baekhyun’s shoulder, the lanky figure was still ogling the scene with his jaw on the ground and eyes permanently unplugged from their sockets—but then someone much shorter materialised at his side, also dressed in a waiter’s uniform, clutching a shiny credit to his chest, glancing about and visibly sweating. He started to lean close, to murmur something into the side of his face; and instantly Sehun spun, smiling widely when he recognised his visitor and especially the credit card he held onto firmly. He reached out as though to make a grab but the other caught him and hit his head lightly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Sheepish, Sehun hung his head, and then they both smiled at each other.

They vanished faster than they’d both appeared, so that Chanyeol’s eyes eventually slid back and settled on Baekhyun’s face.

“It worked, right?” Baekhyun practically gasped out.

Chanyeol’s mouth was too dry for him to respond.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol sneaked a glance at Baekhyun, who slurped absently at a carton of apple juice whilst flicking through the channels on TV, his shoulders slouched and eyes barely open. They sat several feet apart on the couch, further apart from each other than usual, way further; not that Baekhyun even noticed … he presumed.

Restlessly, he swallowed; laced his fingers together; coughed. Still, Baekhyun paid him no heed. Finally the need to blurt something out became too much and it defeated him—blistering and bubbling and brimming. “I didn’t—kiss back, by the—by the way,” he stuttered.

Baekhyun didn’t even flinch. “Didn’t say you did.”

For a moment, Chanyeol was convinced he’d magically gotten his memories of the night erased, or the night hadn’t even happened at all—until his eyes flashed, and Chanyeol had to repress a groan. “Wh-what … Oh, yeah, um, well, I—I didn’t. Kiss back. Just—for your information.”

“’Kay.” He sucked noisily.

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, in—in case you were going to bring it up…”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Oh, he _definitely_ remembered. Brat.

The giant gritted his teeth. “Well, just. In. Case.”

Baekhyun simpered as Chanyeol’s lips curled in displeasure. “Okay, Dimples. Whatever you say.” And then he gladly returned his focus to the television in front of them, humming as though they hadn’t just made out in the middle of the busiest restaurant in South Korea an hour earlier to dispose of both Baekhyun’s ex and Chanyeol’s reputation as a heterosexual for good.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol was a hundred percent certain that that fucking devil Byun Baekhyun had messed around with his alarm, because when he at last came to the next morning he found his alarm hadn’t gone at all and he was fifteen minutes late to figure drawing class—and that little shit was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully this wasn’t the first time Baekhyun had pulled a stunt like this and, thus, Chanyeol was prepared. Huffing, he hurried out of bed and rushed through his routine as he always did whenever Baekhyun tried to irritate him like this, hopping into his clothes whilst brushing his teeth and trailing a brush through his hair, and several minutes later he was blundering down the hallway to class at a speed he never would have expected himself to reach before this sort of occurrence became commonplace. And then when he at last arrived into class, he forgot—as per usual—to check if the same asshat who always did had forgotten to _not_ leave his fat can of paint in front of the door, and, unsurprisingly, he ended up landing his foot inside of it and almost knocking himself over in the process. Infuriated, he groaned, removing his leg and wrinkling his nose at the candy apple red paint drenching his foot and ankle. Nobody reacted much; again, the entire thing had become habitual.

Chanyeol’s head lifted so that he managed to catch Baekhyun watching, standing at the opposite end of the room with a giant smirk splattered across his face. The giant pursed his lips contemptuously.

Then somebody who clearly _hadn’t_ been informed of the script piped up from behind him—“Oh, you alright?”—and he spun in surprise, beholding the figure of a striking, pale girl with leather black waves that cascaded down her back and curled, curls she brushed out of her glowing face as she raised an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down but mainly with concern, instead of prejudice or mockery.

From the other side of the class, he felt Baekhyun’s smirk melt away like an iceberg in the middle of a desert.

“Um—this always happens,” he lied, smiling awkwardly and wondering why his face felt so hot, and why it hurt a bit.

The girl’s smile was tight but very red, redder than the paint on his leg. He bit at the inside of his mouth until he thought he could taste blood. “Red suits you, Elf Boy,” she observed, the nickname startling him. Sure enough, the mention of his ears was enough to bathe them in flames. He ducked his head as she smirked, keeping a firm distance. “Makes you look sexy.” Now his cheeks flushed a dark red, matching his ears and his leg, but the girl took no notice, wandering to the only unoccupied station without another glance. In a haste he grabbed for some paper towels and dabbed at his leg frantically before waddling over, trying to catch up and not topple over at the same time. “This yours?” she jerked her chin in the direction of his station.

He forced himself to stop at least a metre and a half away. “Oh, y-yeah.”

Still smirking, she skimmed through his scattered sketchbooks and helped herself to one which she combed through with furrowed brows. “Pretty— Woah, pretty impressive actually.” She nodded to him with a genuine smile so that his insides clenched painfully.

And then Baekhyun, in all his naked glory, materialised at the girl’s side, probably (way) too close for comfort, lips pressed together in a thin line as he glowered pointedly at her.

“And who are you?”

“Joohyun. Visiting from another art programme.” She answered unapologetically, looking him up and down with arched brows and a crinkled nose. Her lip curled slightly and she turned away, taking a step towards Chanyeol instead, who she frowned at. “Your boyfriend? Classy.” Baekhyun snorted.

Too stunned to correct her, Chanyeol could only watch as she shook her head at Baekhyun, gave his work another pleased glance and then sent him a final nod. “See you around,” Joohyun smiled, before disappearing into a flurry of students crowded around Kyungsoo’s station nearby.

Chanyeol stared after her with his mouth hanging open in awe; he hoped the image of her dazzling self would stay in his mind long enough for him to be able to draw her later—when he got back home. His fingers itched for a pen to perform a quick sketch now, just in case, and he additionally began to wonder if he could catch up with her after class to … to what? His mind was going fuzzy. Ask if she’d like to be drawn? Ask for some tips, maybe? He suddenly felt shy. She seemed nice enough, anyway. Wouldn’t it be worth it to try?

“Why was she acting like she was some … teacher? Or something? Didn’t she say she was just some student?” Baekhyun fumed next to him, and Chanyeol turned, surprised even more at his paleness, and a shadow that passed over his face for a moment which seemed to convey some kind of indecipherable emotion. Since he was naked, he couldn’t fiddle with his shirt, so his long, slender fingers worked in a frenzy instead at his wrist, yanking and jerking at the skin loosely and peculiarly with obvious discomfort. His eyes were cast downwards.

The reason for his distress, however, Chanyeol wasn’t sure. He reached out to console him, pondering the situation carefully and still scanning the crowd in front of him for her jet black head. Then his arm loosened from around Baekhyun’s shuddering, naked body and he puffed out his cheeks.

“She was pretty,” he tried, watching for Baekhyun’s reaction, and widening his eyes incredulously when he exploded.

“Pretty?” the fair-haired boy spluttered, as though there was a lump of shit sitting on his tongue. “ _Pretty?_ I think you’d—you’d better get a new pair of eyes, Dimples. What’re _you_ on about? ‘Pretty,’” he echoed mockingly; scoffed; and, shaking his head, he marched away with his nose stuck in the air and chin jutted out in disgust and disdain.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol had succeeded in catching Joohyun after class, but by then already ten other students had done the same before him and she looked weary and tired. He guessed that it was time for her to leave—he was too late.

But then she lifted her head and met his eyes and gave her small smile, a smile which managed to be reassuring despite its tautness. “Hey, Elf Boy,” she chirped, straightening her back and glancing up at him. She was even smaller than Baekhyun, and he was taken aback by her stark, dazzling beauty. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me much. Was it about the naked guy?”

He blushed. “Er, Baekhyun? No—he’s just—”

She cut him off breezily, gathering her things. “I was really impressed with your work, Elf Boy, you’ve got talent for sure. I’ll be paying a visit soon enough, don’t you worry. But was there”—she locked eyes with him again, and a pleasant, electrifying chill crawled down Chanyeol’s spine—“anything you wanted to ask me?”

For a few moments he couldn’t remember how to speak; but, sensing that this girl was a woman not to be delayed or fooled around with, he quickly collected himself and nodded. “I—was going to ask if you know much about abstract? Well, how to be— Er, see, the thing is—”

“Abstract is extremely complex. And not at all at the same time.” Her tight-lipped smile returned; cherry red lips that pressed together and spread only vaguely. “It depends on you, Elf Boy. You and your thoughts—it’s all about perspective and interpretation. It should mean something to you and mean a million other things to everybody else.” She paused and shrugged. “That good enough?”

He hesitated. A concept like this—he was used to strict guidelines and rules and recurring patterns and techniques and methods. Minseok was right—they didn’t do stuff like abstract anymore at all. A concept like this, it was alien to him.

Sighing, he gave another nod, not wanting to obstruct her any longer with his pathetic prattling; and with one last tight smile, Joohyun waved and strutted out of the classroom, her curls swishing about and bouncing.

He watched after her helplessly, his heart thumping in his chest and thumping in his chest still fifteen minutes later, as he ascended the stairs leading to his apartment with juddering, sweaty hands. _Extremely complex. Depends on you. Thoughts. Perspective. Interpretation._ The words knotted and shrieked and reverberated in his mind, ringing and flitting about and clamouring and taunting him. It was almost impossible to stop his jerking hands from leaping up and enveloping his ears—not that that would do much to help.

But when he arrived at his apartment, already at the climax of delirium, he stepped inside only to find his best friend on top of an also naked dude on his couch, in the middle of his living room.

The screaming in his head swelled until he thought he might explode.

Face smeared thickly with jam, Chanyeol raised one quivering finger and jerked it in the direction of the door behind him. “Out,” he commanded hoarsely.

The boy’s eyebrows shot up, perched high on his forehead. Baekhyun, caught off-guard by Chanyeol’s interjection, tore himself away from the naked stranger on the couch and spun, bottom lip coated in a questionable gloss and eyes bulging. He tilted his head to the side.

Chanyeol’s nostrils flared. He pointed again, narrowing his eyes. “Out. Now,” he hissed, and to his horror the stranger’s mouth only parted in confusion. Shuddering all over—like a volcano on the verge of erupting—he opened his mouth to repeat himself for the final time; but, abruptly courteous, the stranger beat him to it, skidding off the couch and hauling on his clothes as he started to make his way out of the living room with his head bent.

For a moment, Chanyeol felt himself progressively slacken—until the stranger came to standstill beside him and, hesitating only for a second, leaned in close. “By the way, I don’t really approve of cheating—I really didn’t know,” he rushed to explain, and Chanyeol would’ve screamed if he hadn’t hopped out of the dorm immediately after, slamming the door shut behind him hastily.

Not even bothering to put on his clothes or face him properly, Baekhyun flashed Chanyeol a puzzled look over his shoulder. “What was all that about?” he scoffed, shaking his head.

Chanyeol’s teeth grinded against each other. “You were fucking somebody in the living room.”

“And…?” Baekhyun trailed off, still shaking his head in bewilderment.

_Give him a chance. He’ll remember. Just give him a chance._

Chanyeol pinched the bridge of his nose. “In the living room,” he repeated, enunciating every syllable and praying he’d get the fucking hint already.

But Baekhyun only blinked.

Suddenly livid, Chanyeol threw his hands into the air and thundered—“Are you kidding me?”

Taken aback, Baekhyun blinked faster, turning. “What?”

“What the fuck, man? Did—” He threaded his hands through his hair. “Did you forget or something?”

“Forget? Forget…” Again, Baekhyun’s words faded. He stopped; screwed up his face. “What—” he started up again; and then it dawned on him. His shoulders loosened. “ _Oh_ , oh, jeez, man, okay, sorry, it was just a mistake…”

“Just a mistake?” Chanyeol spat. “A ‘mistake’?”

Baekhyun’s brows furrowed. “Uh, _yeah_ — Dimples, what…? Why are you so—”

“So what?”

He laughed shakily, gesticulating with one hand and tugging at his sleeve with the other. “S-so, peeved? All of a sudden? It’s not like it’s the first—”

“But you promised.”

“Yeah, I did, and I just forgot, that’s all—”

“But you _promised_ —”

“Yeah, I did,” Baekhyun shouted back. He stood, glaring up at Chanyeol, looking confused and infuriated and irritated and concerned all at once. He inhaled sharply, hazy eyes fastened on the giant’s in the unbearable silence, and twisted on his heel, grabbing his discarded clothes from the ground and stalking into his room, making sure to slam the door hard enough so that it echoed through the entire building and forced it to tremble.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol had had it. Growling, he sat up and turned to face the wall, the one obstacle separating him and the _noisy as fuck_ couple next door. He breathed in slowly, before slamming his fist three times into the wall, chest heaving as he waited. “SHUT UP.”

Abruptly, the moaning petered out into silence. He heard hushed, muted talking and then Baekhyun’s door being yanked open and shoved close—and the door of the apartment itself opening and slamming shut, shortly after. He held his breath, counted.

Baekhyun stood in front of him, naked, hands planted on hips, two seconds later.

“It never bothered you this much before,” Baekhyun mused, brows knitted closely together.

Chanyeol huffed. “It did.”

“Dimples, we made a deal, and the deal was, ‘No fucking in the living room’, not: ‘No fucking AT ALL’.”

“I didn’t—” Chanyeol bit down painfully on his bottom lip. “I didn’t, though, say you couldn’t fuck at all,” he fired back, but Baekhyun only snorted, unimpressed.

“Name me one time you’ve ever heard of someone having quiet sex.”

“I—” He faltered. His hands flailed about as he tried to justify himself: “Look, no, that’s—”

Something passed over Baekhyun’s face. It glinted as his mouth spread, slowly, into a wide, devious smile. Chanyeol covered his face in his hands. “It’s okay to be jealous, Dimples,” the fair-haired devil simpered, crawling towards him on the bed.

“Wh-WHAT. I’m—I’m not _jealous_ ,” Chanyeol panted, backing away and nearly tumbling onto the ground, sending Baekhyun into a fit of a giggles.

“You are.”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you _are_ —” Baekhyun sang, and Chanyeol swatted at him before diving onto the ground in an attempt to escape.

“I’m _not_ —”

“You are, you are, yep you totally are, I know you are!”

“Baek! You’re so—”

Baekhyun grinned as he joined him on the floor, grabbing his ankle and heaving him backwards. Chanyeol yelped and writhed in his grip, and then he sat up and Baekhyun closed in.

Their noses bumped. “So—what?” Baekhyun cocked his head to the side, smirking.

Chanyeol’s mouth suddenly went drier than sandpaper.

He opened his mouth to speak; but nothing more than the beginnings of a croak came out.

Baekhyun’s eyes slid down, settled on his mouth.

Chanyeol jumped to his feet. “Okay, I overreacted,” he admitted, voice quivering. Baekhyun drew his eyes up Chanyeol’s frame at a painfully sluggish pace, lingering in a certain … _area_ before he finally arrived at his face. Their eyes locked.

Chanyeol ripped his away. “I won’t … That was unacceptable behaviour, er, I shouldn’t— I’m sorry.”

He bit his lip and tapped his foot against the floor, waiting for the other’s response—until finally Baekhyun nodded, bounced to his feet and stuck out his hand. “I forgive you. Shake on it?”

The giant stared at his hand as though there were six instead of one.

Baekhyun laughed, and reached out to link their hands, jolting them up and down once their fingers had intertwined.

Colouring and reclaiming consciousness, Chanyeol gently broke free from the other’s firm hold and bowed quickly, so that again Baekhyun snickered. “Gosh, we’re really gonna act all formal?” he remarked, and Chanyeol’s face went a gazillion shades darker as he shook his head and lowered it.

“But, seriously, Dimples. It’s alright to be jealous.”

Chanyeol’s head jerked. He puffed out his cheeks. Was that apology going to be all for nought? “That’s— Baekhyun, I fucking told you already. I’m. Not. Jealous.”

“Not jealous?” Baekhyun folded his arms across his chest, clearly insulted. “What’s so bad about the idea of liking me, Dimples? Huh? There a problem?”

“What the _fuck_ are you—”

“No, what the fuck are _you_ talking about, when you’re clearly—”

Chanyeol hauled himself to his feet. “I’m not _‘clearly’_ anything, Byun Baekhyun,” he scowled.

“You’re a fucking liar.” Tears sprang from Baekhyun’s eyes. He wiped at them angrily and yelled—“You’re a _fucking_ liar!”

“ _You’re_ delusional.”

“I’m not _sick_ —”

“You are,” Chanyeol spat, and he didn’t know why, he didn’t know why he was saying this, why he was hurting Baekhyun, why _he_ felt so hurt, so angry— Why something in his stomach was starting to knot and scream and judder. “You are,” he repeated faintly, only in a whisper, all but to himself, as he turned and headed out of the room, only to hear Baekhyun scream after him—

“I’M. NOT. _SICK!_ ”

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

“Does it bother you that we’re a stereotype, Dimples?”

Chanyeol chose not to respond and concentrated instead on the outline of the boy’s fingers, ignoring the foreign ache in his chest.

“You know what I mean, Dimples,” Baekhyun continued nonetheless—never the best at getting hints—sidling closer. “Infamous guy who everyone wants to fuck, guys _and_ girls, but a real softie inside, and you’re his roommate.” He grinned, and Chanyeol’s hand trembled, his pen nearly slipping from his sweaty grasp as he cursed silently. The other didn’t notice. “And you’re the other half of the stereotype, because you’re cute, introverted and you’re a fucking creative genius. And unlike everybody else _you_ don’t wanna fuck me, you’re intent on saying you don’t want to and snapping at me all the time because you’re grumpy and you’re hella cute when you’re grumpy, Dimples.” Chin on Chanyeol’s shoulder, his breathing heavy. Chanyeol’s eyes are wide and he’s panicking, panicking, his pen tumbling from his fingers … “Does it bother you, then”—a low voice by his ear; coarse, whispery, ticklish—“that we’re a stereotype?”

“It bothers me that you don’t know how to shut up,” Chanyeol retorted, but his breath hitched, much to his dismay.

A deadly smile. He didn’t see it; he felt it.

“You don’t have to be bothered by it. I know you love me, Dimples—”

“Can you just fuck off already?” out of nowhere the words came, flying out of his mouth, as he whirled around to glare at him—

Except when he did he immediately froze, paling, painfully aware of the fact that their faces were not even inches apart, Baekhyun’s eyes lowered to his lips, their foreheads almost touching, heads bent close together.

Heart hammering in his chest, Chanyeol felt his eyelids slowly droop as Baekhyun, literally on all fours, edged closer and pushed him onto his back, his golden hair sheltering his dimmed eyes and mouth curled into a pink smirk as his eyes raked over him, _pink smirk, pink lips_ —

The sound of a door slamming shut jolted Chanyeol awake. His eyes snapped open; heart almost stopped.

Baekhyun was gone.

But the spell he’d put on Chanyeol hadn’t.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Baekhyun plucked at Minseok’s treasured, spotless carpet on the floor and shook his head defiantly, eyes fluttering shut and nose up in the air.

For the billionth time that evening, Jongdae howled. “Baek, please! _Please!_ The competition is in, like, oh my— _less than two_ weeks away! Less than two weeks, Baek! You seriously _have_ to—”

“Listen, kid,” Baekhyun interrupted him. Jongdae’s nose scrunched up tightly; he hated their age difference with a passion. “I’ve got my own problems, alright? Like—” He threw his hands up into the air with an angry, aggravated scoff. “Finding a fucking job, for example. You know how much I get paid these days? Huh? Barely _nothing_ is what I get despite all my hard work, you know, and they tell me they’ve got cuts and all that dumb shit at your bullshit excuse for a school.”

Jongdae arched his brows as Baekhyun sniffed contemptuously. “Nice. But like, if you want a new job so bad, why don’t you just, just be a stripper or something?”

A thoughtful silence pursued the suggestion, so unbelievably sombre that Chanyeol almost snorted. A stripper? Were they serious? Wow, what an excellent occupation, a brilliant choice! Totally acceptable. As if Baekhyun didn’t flaunt his dangly bits enough already, eh? “He wouldn’t be a stripper,” Chanyeol found himself spitting out the inward remark, and upon noticing that everyone had heard, he ducked instinctively and willed his ears not to flame so visibly.

And then suddenly, much to Chanyeol’s blended shock and horror, he was responded to: “And why is that?” Baekhyun was the one to reply, the faintest taste of discernible venom clinging to his voice as he delivered his retaliation, eyes glued to Chanyeol’s menacingly and pupils dilated.

Chanyeol swallowed. He struggled painfully in answering: “Because, you don’t, I mean you’ve already got one job where you’re standing there n-naked in front of, in front of a bunch of people. So … Knowing you, you’d probably want to try out a job with, where you’re, fucking, as…” His words began to fade into an uncomfortable pause which stretched miserably, and he lowered his head even further, wishing he could melt into a puddle or dig himself a giant hole or just _fucking disappear_.

And then, worse, sitting awkwardly amongst the others, feeling Baekhyun’s half-glare and half-smirk less than a metre from his face, Chanyeol found that he didn’t feel so hungry anymore. He thought that he felt a little thirsty instead.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol never had dreams about his friends, let alone sex dreams. But even so, he was jolted awake several nights later with the scalding image of the unmistakable, glistening, golden body of Byun Baekhyun sliding against his, the events of this agonising hallucination he remembered clearly—far too clearly, burning into the flesh of his eyes: Baekhyun’s lips against his like they were two nights ago, warm and melting and his entire body was on fire as Baekhyun helped him out of his clothes and pushed him onto a bed and slithered onto him and pinned him onto the violet mattress and trailed his hands down, down, down, and—

Rubbing at his ears in humiliation and horror, he heaved himself out of bed and crept outside, throat dry and body still blazing—only to stiffen immediately in the brightness of the light outside his door.

Baekhyun stood in front of him, his face pale and lips quivering just a tiny bit so Chanyeol almost didn’t detect this. His fingers wobbled and wore at the hem of his shirt, a long tear visible in the fabric. He dropped his eyes seconds after they met Chanyeol’s. “Thunder,” he barely whispered, and a scene all too familiar replayed in Chanyeol’s mind, a scene from almost three years before, a twenty-year-old Baekhyun—even shorter than now—trembling at his bedroom door after rapping desperately on the wood.

He’d whimpered the same word and only that, over and over again, until a few minutes later Chanyeol finally understood. But what now? What was to do, he had wondered, startled, the picture of a frightened Byun Baekhyun tremendously unfamiliar and astonishing.

Already sensing that no good would come out of the idea abruptly formulating in his mind, he’d found himself blurting out without warning, “Want to come in?”, his ears so scarlet they began to itch vehemently and felt like they had already begun turning to ashes; but Baekhyun had already dashed past him with his head lowered, looking sheepish but greatly gratified, before Chanyeol could have had the chance to take back his offer.

Upon entering Chanyeol remembered that the boy with golden air had merely hung—almost in embarrassment and shame—in the centre of his room with his shoulders hunched and eyes darting nervously, _nervously_ , and it was only when Chanyeol had cleared his throat and told him he didn’t mind if he slept on his bed that Baekhyun nodded, inhaled sharply and waddled over to Chanyeol’s ginormous bed which he wriggled onto and settled.

 

 

Abruptly, a clap of thunder jerks the room from its stillness and Baekhyun lets out a strangled, alarming cry—Chanyeol, the actions unfamiliar but for some reason instinctive, turns over quickly and hugs Baekhyun close, patting his head cautiously. “It’s alright. Just a bit of rain. That’s all.”

“Why you gotta make me sound like a pussy,” Baekhyun complains, voice muffled, into Chanyeol’s chest, but all the same he whimpers when the thunder sounds again. When quiet returns, he eases backwards, peers at something snuggled beside Chanyeol, something small, which he picks up and shakes almost experimentally. Chanyeol wants to voice his disapproval but doesn’t; instead, he keeps his mouth closed and only watches. “Cute teddy,” Baekhyun coos, tone empty of any derision.

Chanyeol’s cheeks colour anyway; but now he knows what to do. “Cuddle it.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow.

Face now several shades darker, Chanyeol tries to explain, gesturing a little for extra measure: “The toy—it could, I think, help you. Sleep better.” Baekhyun follows the other’s pointed finger, to the window in the corner of his room, drenched and soaked, and he shrivels into himself involuntarily. He nods without a moment’s hesitation, hugging the toy to his stomach and turning away swiftly from Chanyeol and the window, breathing thickly and heavily.

Chanyeol doesn’t realise he’s smiling until he’s twisted away to face the opposite direction, and by the time his smile has finally dissolved he’s recognised the mistake that he’s made and he almost groans aloud in annoyance.

Scratching his head, he gets to his feet, walking around the bed and peering over Baekhyun with his eyes squeezed slightly in the murkiness around them. Outside, the sky grumbles, a sea of white washing over the room and Baekhyun’s small figure curled up beneath the covers. His already tiny frame looks even smaller, like a newborn kitten—soft, sweet, and pure. He looks peaceful. Gentle. Tranquil. A dramatic contrast to the world around him, he, Baekhyun, is the calm amongst the storm. Chanyeol sighs and reaches out in an attempt to pull the teddy as gently as possible from his grasp; except Baekhyun’s hold is stubborn and unyielding, and after three consecutive tries Chanyeol is forced to give up. He shakes his head and, trounced, lets himself take in the sight of Byun Baekhyun again, now illuminated slightly from the view of the window beyond—a long strip of a horizon running along the square of visible sky in front of him, twisting patterns of coral, lavender and buttermilk.

Soon he has become inspired. Skin crawling with anticipation, he hurries to the emergency canvas nearby and retrieves a few supplies before setting up his kit in front of the sleeping golden body sprawled in front of him, with his one leg stuck out and the base of his burnished collarbone gradually disappearing beneath the sheets, and the view of the window positioned perfectly in the background. Chanyeol’s widened eyes brim with a tint of insanity as he frantically draws and then paints over his work, quickly, quickly, before the view can have a chance to change and before Baekhyun begins to stir.

When Baekhyun does eventually turn over in his slumber, Chanyeol is in a heap on the floor, panting, face hot and flushed, but victorious. He’s succeeded, he’s done it. He looks over at where his canvas stands proudly, glistening, a beautiful boy lying in bed in front of a sea of—

 

 

Chanyeol shook his head violently; was close, too close, to gasping aloud.

 

 

“Do you like it?”

Baekhyun fingers the painting in awe, his mouth slightly agape, eyes round and sparkling and head tilted to the side. Chanyeol expects him to tease—to mock, ridicule him; expects him to make a snide remark, or a joke or _something_.

But now Baekhyun is silent, and he isn’t saying a thing and he’s only staring, and running his fingers over the painting in such an almost dirty, _lewd_ manner that Chanyeol can’t even feel his ears anymore from this searing, sweltering heat.

 

 

“Dimples? Dimples, please—” Baekhyun’s words were severed by a crash of thunder coming from outside, and he jumped a bit; nearly toppled over in his shock.

His bottom lip wobbled.

 

 

It’s the first time Chanyeol ever draws Byun Baekhyun. And the first of many.

 

 

By now, Chanyeol was sure that this was far too much. He drew himself taller, towering over the quivering figure before him and inhaling deeply and wearily. “Sleep on the couch,” he instructed as firmly as he could, although his voice still succumbed to a faint tremor.

And it was only for a second, but the way Baekhyun reacted simply tore Park Chanyeol into shreds. His eyes widened and pupils shook, a gasp wrenching itself from his feeble figure. He whimpered, “Pl-please…” and perhaps Chanyeol might have given in—if he hadn’t straightened, moments later, folded his arms across his chest and spat, “Yeah, f-fine then. You—you can fuck off if you’re gonna be like that,” before extending his arm and slamming Chanyeol’s own door shut in his face.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

The next day, Chanyeol awoke knowing he didn’t have figure drawing and that Baekhyun had a different batch of kids to take care of instead. A batch of kids that didn’t include him. He wondered why the thought made his stomach go weird, made him feel a little sick. He felt stupid and horrible—especially after remembering what had happened the night before.

And remembering what he’d dreamt of.

He had work himself, at his parents’ restaurant, but the whole day was a nightmare. He couldn’t stop dropping pans and forgetting orders and messing up again and again, until Yixing couldn’t handle all the customers’ complaints and made him sit outside to cool off. “You sure you’re okay, man?” his boss asked with a frown, glancing sideways at him with his eyes narrowed—and he asked it again and again throughout the day, his doubt embarrassingly apparent.

Near the end of his shift, Chanyeol’s phone started to buzz and when he picked it up it was Jongdae screaming hysterically about winning first place in the dreaded songwriting competition. His immense glee loosened Chanyeol’s shoulders and he couldn’t help but give a tired smile, happy that something good had happened during his shitty day.

Returning home an hour later, he was surprised to find the Married Couple already drunk out of their minds on his couch, giggling and hiccupping in sync, as well as several empty bottles littered before them and twinkling. His mouth curved into a small ‘o’ as he poked his head forward to examine the state of the rest of his living room—and then Baekhyun came into view, hopping into the room with several more bottles balanced in his arms, and both froze when he raised his head and they locked eyes.

“I _sang_!” Jongdae cut off the tension immediately by hollering, tilting his head back and pumping his fist into the other.

Minseok winked sleepily and slapped him on the back. “Told ya,” he purred, a fond expression etched into his face. He nodded at Chanyeol. “He got over himself. Fucking finally.”

Jongdae squealed delightfully.

Chanyeol looked back at Baekhyun, who had already torn away his gaze; swallowing, he wondered if he was going to ignore him all evening.

And the answer to that ended up being, yes. Yes, he was going to, and he did. Even when it was his turn to interrogate Chanyeol in a game of Truth or Dare he simply bore his eyes into the carpet and asked the meagre question—“When was your first kiss?”—which they all knew the answer to already, and it wasn’t much of a story so they moved on quickly, the Married Couple oblivious of the two’s discomfort due to their being incredibly and permanently wasted. They were also too wasted to notice that Baekhyun was unusually restrained and compliant, and that he’d had to change his shirt twice from creating enormous holes.

When another scenario involving Baekhyun needing to interact with Chanyeol appeared, Baekhyun cleared his throat and got to his feet. Jongdae’s face fell but he wouldn’t budge. 

“It’s only eight—eight—”

“Half past eight.” Minseok raised an eyebrow at Baekhyun, suddenly slightly sober.

Baekhyun shook his head. “I’m tired,” he lied, it was totally a lie, a total lie—and when no one bothered to argue further he twisted on his heel and headed over to his room silently without the slightest peek in Chanyeol’s direction.

Chanyeol’s stomach did a little flip. He clutched at it, told himself it was probably just from all the alcohol and glanced over at the Married Couple, who were busy attacking each other’s faces. He pretended to retch. “I’m gonna go get some food,” he announced, although he definitely didn’t have an appetite at the moment but, frankly, just needed some air for a while. He sighed when he got no response and left anyway, massaging his temples and groaning.

The Married Couple were nowhere to be seen when he returned—but he heard them, alright. His jaw clenched when the indisputable sound of moaning drifted towards him from his bedroom, and as he expected, he found that the door was shut: but he had no intentions of going inside and delivering them their dinner, hell no. He was going to eat alone and he wouldn’t give a shit. Especially not after going through hell the whole day: There was his stomach-ache, all that crap at work and Baekhyun acting odd and butthurt too—so he didn’t at all plan on adding the sight of Minseok and Jongdae’s naked bodies intertwined on his bed onto the list, no thank you.

He plonked down and grabbed at the chopsticks, ignoring the weird noises his stomach made at his defiance as he chewed stubbornly. The ramyun shouldn’t have tasted so bad, except it did, because all he could feel and taste and smell was just pure nausea, and _I swear, I’m gonna fucking retch, that dumb cunt—_

He froze.

His chopsticks slipped from his fingers and landed softly, at his feet, although in his head it sounded more like an enormous crash—

Because where was he gonna sleep now?

His eyes fixated for the second time on his bedroom door, and he shuddered with tremendous revulsion when he recalled a certain, haunted memory buried deep inside of his mind—a memory he choked down as he staggered to his feet, head swivelling so that his eyes were glued to Baekhyun’s door instead. He swallowed, the final remnants of realisation sinking in.

_You done fucked up, buddy._

It wasn’t like he hadn’t slept in Baekhyun’s room before; of course he had. Yes, it was more often that Baekhyun would be the one to steal into his room and under the covers and nestle beside him—particularly on stormy days _(you done fucked up)_ or nights after he hadn’t had much luck in finding any job positions in newly published papers. But Chanyeol sometimes slept in his room. There had been that one time, for example, when a wire or cable or something had exploded and he’d had to move out of his room for a while since the man who was supposed to fix it kept stalling and shit. And it was … Well, sleeping in Baekhyun’s room—was… was…

But there had never been a time where Baekhyun had been so—odd. And angry at him.

And he didn’t know what to do.

Presently, he hovered timidly and hesitantly in front of the door, hand raised, fisted—eyes screwed shut tightly and stomach clenching and unclenching. His throat felt clogged up, and so did his nose, from this irrepressible stench and taste and feeling of throwing up violently and suddenly all over the wood before him—and there was a ringing, screaming, shrill and penetrating, in his head.

His fist was smeared in sweat as he knocked, a little too loudly so that he cringed with heavy embarrassment immediately after, and then he had to wait in some unbearable heat swamping the entire room and swathing his ears and whole face for a response that took far too long to arrive:

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,_ eight, nine _—_

The door swung open without warning, revealing a tiny albeit enraged Byun Baekhyun whose arms were folded across his chest and eyes pierced and drilled holes into Chanyeol’s vulnerable, quaking self. Slowly, Chanyeol drew in a deep, prickly breath, practically on his toes because, abruptly, he felt much weaker and smaller than Baekhyun—and extremely scared—and without saying a word he pointed a finger in the direction of his room. The Married Couple were seriously, _seriously_ making a great fucking load of noise, and he knew Baekhyun could hear them and was sure he knew what the problem was—but all of a sudden Chanyeol found himself too bashful to declare the issue aloud to him and just stood there, cowardly, wincing.

Again he was made to wait, Baekhyun taking his sweet, sweet time to rotate his head, blink slowly ( _so_ slowly, so painful, so painfully _slow_ ), yawn, and meet his eyes once more only to remain utterly, completely silent.

Incensed and anxious, Chanyeol counted:

_One, two, three, f—_

Baekhyun scoffed. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes to slits, grasping the door with one hand and trained himself to slam it shut in the giant’s face—but not before he paused, to utter four words, four words that made Chanyeol whimper and crumple to the ground in a defeated heap:

“Sleep. On. The. Couch.”


	5. chanyeol has an idea

It was practically impossible for Chanyeol not to hang up when, the next morning at work, he received a phone call from Kim Jongdae as well as several messages including: _Bro. Hey. Dude. Yo. Yo._ _Yeo. Pls. Reply. Sorry. Bro._

“I didn’t even go into my bedroom this morning. I had to steal some shit from Baekhyun’s closet after he left for work. He’s so fucking tiny and I can’t breathe in any of his shit. Fuck you.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Jongdae wailed as Chanyeol pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and held his phone a metre from his ear. “Please, man—I didn’t mean to, we didn’t, we just got a bit drunk.”

“A bit.”

“Hey— Oh, man, aren’t you happy for me at least? I won that competition and stuff. I won, man, I _sang_ in front of all those—”

“Congratulations. But I need to worry about Baekhyun being mad at me right now, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped with the spam.”

He switched off the phone before Jongdae could annoy him any further, stuffing it into his back pocket and grimacing. Yixing furrowed his brows and cocked his head to the side when he saw, but Chanyeol only shook his head and carried on taking orders without another word the entire shift.

 

                                                                                    ⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

 “Er, well, I was thinking … Um, do you have any ideas about, posing, for example? For me to, er—to practise? First?”

Baekhyun examined his nails petulantly, one leg crossed over the other as he sat in silence, lips pursed. He said nothing as Chanyeol tried for his attention; rotated his head to face away from him when he waved a hand in his face.

“I know you’re upset,” Chanyeol moaned, “but please, can you just…? Cooperate, a bit, maybe? Please—”

“All I’m here to do is pose,” Baekhyun spat, shooting him a glare, eyebrows lowered. “You’re the artist. You’re the one doing the work. I don’t give any input.”

Chanyeol felt cold, bony fingers wrap themselves around his neck and squeeze. He blinked rapidly, ducked his head down and twisted away, furious at himself and Baekhyun also, wishing he’d let Baekhyun into his bedroom that night and wishing Baekhyun would let it go—only to nearly trip over Joohyun in the process. He made a stifled, apologetic noise as she cocked an eyebrow at him, one hand plastered across her chest in alarm and the other held out for balance. Once she had recovered, she let her eyes slide past him, and land on Baekhyun; her eyebrows went higher up her forehead, and her lips pursed—today they were redder than blood. “You two get in a fight?”

“Move along, Bae Joohyun,” Baekhyun muttered, eyes narrowed and focused elsewhere. “Your nose should be on your face, not in other people’s business.”

Joohyun’s head tilted back as her small body trembled with her prickly laughter. “A comedian. Did you know that I find you very charming?”

“Glad to hear I have that impact on you.”

Joohyun scoffed, lifting her head to lock eyes with Chanyeol. She looked magnificent as always, but the giant worried constantly about the intimidating air she carried about with her; worried about impressing her, meeting her standards, what she thought of him. She certainly didn’t favour Baekhyun, who acted like a prick most of the time when she was around—did that affect what she thought of Chanyeol?

“How are you finding the task?”

Chanyeol swallowed, the frightful question nearly shoving him backwards fiercely. “Um—still, still brainstorming.”

She frowned. “Brainstorming? But it’s been quite a while since the announcement. I’d have expected for you to have come up with a general outline, by now, at least,” she remarked, watching his face cloud over shamefully. She paused, as if waiting for him to come up with something on the spot to make up for disappointing her—but sure enough, neither ended up uttering a word, until finally Joohyun got the hint and slithered towards a different student’s station.

There was nothing Chanyeol could do except watch Joohyun fade away in front of him, head bent and eyes misty with traces of tears. Sniffing, he wiped at them with his sleeve, feeling pathetic and like an absolute failure—when suddenly he thought he heard Baekhyun from behind him: “You’ll think of something.”

Astonished, he spun round—but Baekhyun wasn’t looking at him. He was as he’d left him, one leg pulled over the other and head slanted and eyes almost closed and cast downwards. The giant waited several seconds, willed him to lift his head, willed him to have forgotten his spite and come back to him.

But he didn’t.

Chanyeol bit his lip.

He sighed, heart heavy, and turned his attention back to the lumps of clay congregated in front of him.

 

                                                                                    ⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Abruptly, Chanyeol’s phone rang, and his face coloured when he answered the call only to hear his mother bawling unintelligibly on the other end. The Married Couple’s eyes widened in alarm, Jongdae’s hand withdrawing from where it hung by the tower of Jenga blocks reeling beside him; but Baekhyun just went on yanking at Minseok’s carpet, scowling at nothing.

“Hey, why are you calling from an unknown number?” Chanyeol frowned, and the others—except for Baekhyun, of course—gave curious, concerned looks.

His mother’s voice was muffled from bad reception. “Honey? Oh! Sorry, I lost my phone and borrowed a friend’s. Just checking on you, sweetie,” she drawled, as Chanyeol’s lips tightened, and her words were pursued by a pause. Jongdae shrugged and slipped a block into its place; Minseok carried on observing the giant’s exchange. At last she spoke again, adding, with the taste of guilt tugging at her tone: “Yixing was worried about you yesterday, and the shift before that too.”

Chanyeol groaned. He rolled his eyes; felt something in his chest twitch as he thought of Yixing, lips curling. “I’m fine.”

“Sweetie? Is there something you need?”

“‘Something I need’?” the giant spluttered. Minseok cocked a brow. “What— You don’t always have to— I’m _fine_ , I already said I’m fine. You don’t have to always throw your money around if I have a tiny headache or something, please.”

“A headache?” she half-gasped as he sighed and slapped the side of his face. “Are you taking medicine?”

“I’m leaving work if Yixing tell-tales again.”

“Honey? Are you really alright? Is work not good enough for you? Should we—”

The Married Couple watched intently as Chanyeol endeavoured to end the agonising call, and when it was over Jongdae cleared his throat. “Man, if my parents were rich as heck I’d be happy to be spoiled.”

“Chanyeol wants to make a living himself.” Minseok tapped a finger against Jongdae’s leg, squinting. “Being spoiled has its disadvantages.”

“Yeah, like being used for rent.”

Baekhyun’s eyes darted to Jongdae’s face, and shrank into slits. “I’m looking for a job.”

“You’re never finding one,” Jongdae mused, and Baekhyun glowered icily at him in a useless attempt to silence him. He reached out and tugged another block even though it wasn’t his turn; Minseok didn’t seem to mind. Then he leaned back, flicked his vision upwards to meet Baekhyun’s gaze. The tower shook. “Do you think that teacher could raise your wages if you asked or something?” His voice softened suddenly, eyes melting: “Really, Baek. You aren’t in a good situation, a good—are you? And your dad…”

Baekhyun hissed. He hugged his knees and rocked himself gently, turning his head away. “I’ll find some way to support him.”

“Will you, though? He thinks you’ve got the money—”

“I do.” Baekhyun’s tone was firm and resolute. Final.

Jongdae twisted his lips and went quiet. He toyed with Minseok’s pinkie finger and tucked his head into his shoulder. Minseok squinted at him, turned his head back to face forwards and lifted it to catch Chanyeol staring. The giant blushed; didn’t notice how Baekhyun growled at the sight. When Minseok peered at the Jenga tower once more, cautious of the Sunflower nuzzling his shoulder, he carefully drew out one last block before the entire thing swayed and crumpled at the Married Couple’s feet. Minseok lips puckered and eyes glazed; Jongdae grasped his hand tightly. “Use your art,” the retired artist started to advise Chanyeol, without removing his focus from the mound in front of him. “It will give you support your mother could never afford.”

“My mother can afford many things.”

“But not what makes you happy, apparently.”

Chanyeol considered this, wiggling his toes. He thought of Joohyun and life art and felt himself wither.

It was getting late. When it was time to leave, Baekhyun stood without a word and marched out of the Married Couple’s apartment with his chin up and mouth clinched shut; the two raised their brows inquisitively at Chanyeol, who just yawned. After paying his respects quickly to the pile of Jenga blocks, the giant followed, closing the apartment door behind him quietly and all the while wondering to himself how long Baekhyun planned on sulking.

 

                                                                                    ⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol aimed the ball of scrunched up paper and missed: it soared through the air and bounced off the wall before rolling towards the others, an army harvested by Chanyeol’s feet. The giant sighed, head banging on the desk and hands fisting his hair.

_Why the fuck did I pick art to major in again?_

Huffing, he stood; looked about him. He thought he’d better start practising with rock before any solid ideas magically materialised in his head, and so with that in mind he spun on his heel and trudged out of his room, head poking out in the direction of Baekhyun’s bedroom door. It was shut—no surprise there.

He bit his lip and paused outside the door, lifting a shaky fist hesitantly to knock with his eyes shut—when abruptly, he heard muffled speech coming from inside and he froze.

Baekhyun’s voice cracked and splintered. “I’m sorry, Dad. I— I hope you get better soon. Please—”

He faltered. Chanyeol shook his head, face hot with guilt and grief, as he listened in on Baekhyun’s helpless, feeble begging, thought about how much Byun Baekhyun loved his father and hated that he couldn’t support him, help him, cure him. Chanyeol swallowed; bit his lip. “Dad, you’ll get better, I—I promise. Yes … Yes, I will. Dad, take care— Yeah— Dad, you’re not gonna worry about me. Don’t ever worry about me, please, okay? Take care of yourself, only, please … Yes. Yes. Thank you. I love…” His words faded, and Chanyeol told himself it was over. He bit back stinging tears and reached down to twist the knob of the door, inhaling deeply—until Baekhyun’s voice sounded once more, stopping him:

“Oh, and, er—Dad?” Chanyeol’s heart thudded in his throat; he pressed his ear against the door, cheek scarlet and smouldering as he squeezed his eyes shut and waited, anxiously. “I have something… to tell you.” He was going to do it, Chanyeol realised, incredulous, heart pumping faster. He was really going to do it. To confess; to come clean.

It fell silent. Chanyeol bit his lip, pasted his ear to the door as he waited breathlessly, fingers crossed and twitching. “I, um … Dad, I … I— What?” he suddenly said loudly, voice hitching slightly as though in surprise and some faint tinge of panic. Chanyeol’s eyes flew open and he recoiled from the door, gawking at as though it were a monster. He started to shake his head violently, body trembling with fury and disbelief. “You— Oh, oh, no, no—it’s fine.” _No,_ Chanyeol cried, _no, it isn’t._ “It’s fine, no, it wasn’t important.” _It was._ “Yes.” _No._ “Okay. Bye, Dad, love you. Bye…”

Then there was a _beep_ , a single _beep_ that almost sent Chanyeol crumbling to the ground as he reeled, burying his blistering face in his hands. Panting, he took a few strides forward and flung the door open; Baekhyun squawked and stared, clutching his phone to his chest and trembling.

Chanyeol practically gasped out the accusation: “You’re not ever going to tell him, then?”

Baekhyun only continued to gawp at him vacuously, mouth small and round and open in confusion—before his entire face subsequently contorted into an infuriated glare, which he chose to direct at his bare feet. “Tell him what?”

Entirely agitated, Chanyeol pushed his hands through his hair and sighed pointedly at the fair-haired boy sat before him. “You’re just going to keep lying to him?”

That clicked something in the Baekhyun; the temperature of the room plummeted and it boiled. He snarled. “My dad is sick. And it’s none of your fucking business, what I tell him and what I don’t!” he screamed, leaping from the bed and starting towards the door to shove past Chanyeol and flee—but stunning himself and the other the giant pounced, making a grab for his arm and holding him still in an iron grip he was determined not to loosen. The smaller of the two yelped and squirmed and thrashed about, a feral animal to be contained; miraculously, Chanyeol held him in place with ease.

He struggled for a bit longer, gritting his teeth and grunting, until at last he surrendered, chest heaving and head dropped.

When he had given up, Chanyeol automatically pulled him into his chest as he sniffled then started to cry, gently, gingerly. He patted his head and—noticing the dullness in the room and the drawn curtains—carried him into his room where they lay in bed, facing each other as they both wandered into sleep, Chanyeol lacing his hands through Baekhyun’s hair whilst he sang softly to him. The snivelling soon shrank into a still, drowsy silence, Baekhyun’s eyes sliding close and his body mechanically curling up in a ball of golden thread. From beside him, Chanyeol’s bedside lamp cast violet shadows over him, shadows dancing over his face and his whole body—and as Chanyeol watched, mesmerised, he felt himself slowly unearth the first traces of his take on the dreaded “exception”. His eyes fluttered open and, hasty but cautious, he hurried out of bed and grabbed some pencils and paper from his desk, scribbling madly and jerking his head up and down—from the page to Baekhyun, deep in sleep and curled and snoring.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

The air in the art classroom was thick and heavy and full of pressure and panic: Students hurried around and grabbed paintbrushes and lugged huge folders and sighed and whimpered and groaned and fisted their hair and all shared identical, twisted expressions of pain and anguish. The deadline was approaching quicker than anybody had expected—quicker than even Chanyeol had anticipated, Chanyeol, who out of everyone in the class was by far the most distressed at the moment.

He felt embarrassed to instruct Baekhyun to lie down (naked) on the floor in the same position he slept it; felt embarrassed to demonstrate and ease him into the correct pose; felt embarrassed when Baekhyun had shot him a disturbed, perplexed look and when everyone had done the same when he obeyed. But his priority was not to treasure anyone’s dignity but to scribble down the final details of his plan frantically before getting to work in sculpting, grabbing a chunk of rock and—with the ease and expertise of someone practised and prepared—shaping speedily the silhouette of Baekhyun’s small, vulnerable figure curled up on itself and hugging an invisible teddy to his chest.

Nearby, Kyungsoo was glancing over with the corners of his lips drawn upwards as he nodded, evidently impressed. He nudged Jongin, who started blinking rapidly, thinking he’d messed up his stance. “I’ve got some competition, haven’t I?” he chuckled, watching his boyfriend’s eyes finally find what, or rather _who_ , Kyungsoo was referring to. “To be honest, I’m quite flattered.”

The giant was nearly done with the toes when, without warning, Baekhyun began to unfold himself.

“Please—just a little longer, I’m nearly done,” Chanyeol pleaded, grimacing, and Baekhyun did as he was told—except his face was shrouded in gloom and some nameless emotion which made Chanyeol hold his breath and shudder. He understood the position was probably not the most comfortable and he wanted to put his friend out of misery as soon as possible: thus he hurried keenly whilst cursing about having to work with rock, out of all the materials he could’ve picked instead. _Dipshit._

When it was finally over, Baekhyun hopped to his feet, and narrowed his eyes at the giant who blinked ingenuously. “Are your projects usually this…” Unable to find the right words he gestured aimlessly, yet Chanyeol understood.

“Minseok said he’ll come see it if it makes it to the exhibition,” he replied as breezily as he could manage, although he couldn’t ignore the dimness that returned to Baekhyun’s face at his words.

“Minseok?”

Chanyeol hesitated, puzzled. “Yes,” he answered after a moment, tilting his head and biting his lip. He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat, which prickled. “Is there a … problem?”

“You’re just—” Baekhyun rolled his eyes, gesticulating again, except now Chanyeol was baffled. “You’re just like, really obsessed with that kid, huh?”

Chanyeol shrank back. “‘Obsessed’? What—” he started; his words, however, were obscured by his teacher yelling that it was the end of class, all students in the room proceeding towards the exit on cue whilst Baekhyun sniffed and faced the other models.

“Sorry,” he mumbled over his shoulder, hardly capable of being heard, vanishing before Chanyeol could even begin to demand for an explanation.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

Slowly, a river of vanilla dribbled down from the rim of the cup, droplets of rouge and chocolate and cream pooling on the table. Head bent so he could concentrate better, Chanyeol peered at Baekhyun vigilantly, disregarding his own ice cream and trying to get the fair-haired boy’s attention away from the cone which he bit at jovially, tongue flicking at pink flakes littering the inside as he slurped.

It was an unusually hot afternoon for May, the perfect excuse for ice cream. Except, Chanyeol didn’t really feel in the mood for ice cream. He was not only stressed, but also extremely agitated at Baekhyun. He was acting frustrating recently, by not acting frustrating at all—basically, he was acting like everything was okay, everything was normal.

But Chanyeol couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said, about Minseok, and about his father … Nothing was normal. Baekhyun wasn’t alright. Why was he acting like everything was alright?

Proceeding to ignore the triple scoop of ice cream sat in front of him, Chanyeol leaned across the table and flicked Baekhyun’s forehead. Baekhyun yelped and scowled. “Ouch,” he pouted, and Chanyeol rolled his eyes.

He let his eyes lower as he thought, biting his lip hard as he searched hopelessly for a topic of conversation.

And then Baekhyun muttered, “That really hurt, Dimples,” and it clicked in his head.

“But why do you call me ‘Dimples’, when they—my dimples—aren’t even that much of a noticeable feature of mine?” he ventured boldly, smiling apologetically as Baekhyun blinked then frowned.

For the first time since they’d arrived at the shop, Baekhyun turned his attention away from his ice cream, tapping his chin as he genuinely pondered the question. Chanyeol flushed, relieved and embarrassed at the same time, and waited politely for the answer he didn’t really care much about receiving. But then Baekhyun met his eyes, smiled in such a way that Chanyeol felt himself go warm and gooey like melting chocolate, and reclined in his chair as he began to explain: “Well, your dimples are small, right? To most people. Not many notice them, and as you said they aren’t much of a noticeable feature.” He pointed. “I could’ve pointed out your adorable ears, maybe even how they go red every fucking second, like they are now. Or your eyes. Or how tall you are. But everyone notices that, and loads of people have probably called you out on those things. But only special people notice your dimples—or, rather, people who you are special to. You’re the most special, precious person on the planet to me, Dimples, and I love you, and perhaps you may not love me yet but I love you, so much, and I love those dimples because they’re a part of you and a special part of you. So I refer to you by them because it constantly reminds you and me how special you are, to me and to everyone who notices these small but beautiful features you have, and it constantly reminds us of how much I’m in love with you and how much you mean to me.” He paused, took a breath, then laughed almost shakily, cocking his head to the side as he took in Chanyeol’s flushed face. “How was that?”

Chanyeol found himself lost for words. He opened his mouth, tried for sound but failed completely; shook his head and nodded at the same time.

Baekhyun giggled; winked. “I know how to be clever, Dimples.”

“You…” Chanyeol shook his head, incredulous, finally managing to rasp out some sort of reaction. “You sure do,” he breathed.

It was then that he noticed Baekhyun’s blanched fingers gripping at the hem of his shirt and pulling agitatedly, and all prior emotions of ecstasy consequently dissipated. Their eyes met—Chanyeol’s quavering, Baekhyun’s engulfed in ash and soot and flames. “As clever as Minseok?” he whispered, his voice scratched and gnarled.

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed. They tore away from Baekhyun’s as he crossed his arms against his chest, mumbling furiously, “Not this again”—and quailing when Baekhyun shrieked at him.

“‘Not this again’? What do you mean, Dimples?” he roared, the nickname uttered without its usual fondness but loathing and wrath instead, Chanyeol swallowing thickly and almost tripping over his feet as he backed away—yet Baekhyun remained in hot pursuit, stalking towards him and growling and snarling and towering over him, eyes like coal. Chanyeol looked up at him, shrivelled into himself as he panted and squirmed; their eyes locked, and abruptly Chanyeol became conscious of how Baekhyun’s were fringed with crimson and glazed over, and deep and velvety; and how golden his hair looked now he was ablaze—locks of amber draping down his face and sticking up in places and coiling to shape the flames of a bristling fire. He dipped down and Chanyeol flinched away from him, gulping for breath and air as his heart banged a fist on his quivering ribcage, mesmerised by the ruddiness of Baekhyun’s lips and their softness and how they puckered gently, desperately—

“Baekhyun,” at last Chanyeol hissed, spotting—over Baekhyun’s shoulder—an alarmed employee and several customers with their heads turned towards them. “We’re in public.”

Baekhyun stopped where he was, looming over Chanyeol for once, and blackened suddenly when the sun shrank back from him. He looked over his shoulder and recognised the disturbed faces around them—and, ashamed, contracted, although he didn’t make a move to return to his seat and his expression remained vicious. His head jerked backwards and he stared at Chanyeol for a few moments in an agonising silence, chest rising and sinking rapidly then more slowly, pupils wobbling and mouth opening and clamping shut ineffectually: and then he inhaled, grabbed his discarded ice cream cone and turned on his heel, stalking out of the shop and slamming the door deafeningly behind him so that the building lurched and Chanyeol squeaked in shock.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol stood awkwardly but adamantly in front of his wall-length mirror, dismissing the redness in his cheeks as he slowly took several deep breaths in, and out; in, and out. Hands twitching and jerking hysterically, he reached down and started to tug at his trousers before he could change his mind, struggling and grimacing at himself. Next: his boxers.

Now stark naked below the waist, Chanyeol let his eyes travel down, down, and stop at his dick, which he inspected thoroughly and meticulously with furrowed brows and his tongue passing over his bottom lip as he squinted and grunted. _Feel anything?_ he questioned himself, willed himself, urgently, restlessly. _Feel anything? Now? What am I supposed to feel like? Feel anything? Anything? Nothing?_ Exasperated, he grunted again, and racked his brains for ideas—maybe looking wasn’t enough? Maybe…

It wasn’t like he’d never touched himself before. Of course he jerked himself off from time to time—well, a lot—of course he did. Who did? Or rather, who _didn’t_?

But now, now wasn’t like … like usual. Now was different, from all those other times, now was, very different, he told himself, blushing hard as he— _poked_ timidly at the tip, panting lightly, vision hazy as he carefully circled with his fingers and searched for any new (gay) emotion: but he found nothing, no matter how hard he pulled or yanked, and the humiliation was starting to surface. His cheeks coloured and all of a sudden he understood how foolish he looked, how stupid he was, how dumb and embarrassing, a ludicrous idea…

“Hey, Dimples?”

Chanyeol’s head jolted.

His breathing stilled.

“Dimples, hey, I’m sorry, man,” Baekhyun’s voice flooded his senses and—in a flash—he tore his hand away and surged downwards to grab for his discarded clothes, flailing and squeaking as the footsteps outside drew nearer, grew louder, as he struggled, as he yelped when the door was hauled open and this yelp quickly transformed into a high-pitched scream at the sight of Baekhyun’s wide eyes and open mouth: Chanyeol shrieked, toppling over onto his back, legs sticking out in the air with one foot clinging onto his trousers, flailing about madly, hands plastered to his beetroot red face and stained with tears.

And then Baekhyun simply burst into a fit of giggles and hoots, bending forwards as he snorted and hiccupped, and there was a click and a flash.

“Classic,” he sniggered, wiping his eyes with one hand and helping Chanyeol to his feet with the other. “The ultimate gay test: Fiddle with your knob. I love you so much, Dimples,” he laughed breathlessly, and blew a kiss before hurtling out of the room so Chanyeol couldn’t demand for the picture to be deleted.

Puffing, Chanyeol finally succeeded in pulling on his trousers so that he could quickly chase after Baekhyun—but the pursuit finished almost immediately, as Chanyeol halted and took in the state of the apartment, eyes bulging and eyebrows shooting upwards and mouth a huge cavern.

There were sticky notes, brightly coloured and flaring and vivid, suffocating every wall in sight and every chair and table and item of furniture in the room— _Chanyeol’s_ sticky notes. Narrowing his eyes, he started forwards and squinted at the closest note to him, the scrawl doubtlessly in Byun Baekhyun’s brash, rushed hand, and read: _Your smile is the cutest._

He blushed. “Wha—”

Another read, _You make me happy._

The one next to that: _I wish you all the luck in the future._

_You think too much. I love that, and you._

_You need a break._

_Seeing you happy makes my day._

_I’m so glad I found you._

_What did I do to deserve you?_

Then he found one pasted to the left corner of the television, and when he read _this_ one, his face only paled and contorted: _I’d die for that gorgeous ass._ “Er, Baek?” he started, attempting to turn away but catching sight of another lewd note nearby, on the couch: _I get so hard just looking at you._

“Baekhyun, what the actual _fuck_ —”

_My dick has started to hurt so much lately because I keep jerking off thinking about how beautiful you are._

_You work so hard. It makes me so proud._

_Do you smoke pot? Because weed be cute together._

_One day I hope you tell me you love me, although you’ll never love me as much as I love you, Dimples._

_Excuse me, have I fucked you yet?_

“I’m conflicted,” Baekhyun admitted with a shrug, winking and continuing to scrutinise his fingernails. He really wasn’t going to apologise, was he? Chanyeol sighed, and decided it would probably be better to stop reading.

Then he noticed that his reminders, the ones that were supposed to be on the fridge, were missing. He grumbled and whirled on his roommate. “Where did you put them?”

“Put what?”

“ _My_ sticky notes.”

“Aren’t they in your room?” Baekhyun cocked his head to the side, referring to Chanyeol’s stash of sticky notes on his bedside table, which he regularly scrawled reminders on before attaching them to their fridge.

He almost growled his response: “My reminders.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flashed and glinted like the sharpest edge of a diamond. He grinned. “I have no idea—”

“Baekhyun, _seriously_ ,” Chanyeol whined at Baekhyun’s back, helplessly watching his fair-haired imp of a roommate skip away from him; and then he echoed his groaned again when he followed him into his room only to find more scandalous notes, and more fond but R-rated remarks scribbled onto them, winking impishly at him like stars from where they littered the walls.

He thought, agitated, of how much Baekhyun enjoyed seeing like this, infuriated. Embarrassed. Exhausted. He thought about this as he went about the laborious, tedious chore of harvesting all the sticky notes he could find, blushing and shielding his eyes from the crude comments scrawled onto each and every one of them. He thought about this as he hunted the entire apartment for his precious reminders, only to find them in Baekhyun’s drawer next to a box of condoms and some strawberry-flavoured lube.* He thought about this later that day in the Married Couple’s dorm.

*(“You’re not exactly subtle,” Chanyeol snorted when he found them. Baekhyun rolled his eyes: “Why would I want to be, and when have I ever been, subtle, Dimples?”)

“Stop yawning. Seriously, I’ve had it.” Jongdae aimed his Monopoly token at Chanyeol’s face. It missed. “When’s the last time you got more than three hours of sleep, seriously, dude?”

Baekhyun poked his cheek tenderly. “A year ago,” he answered for him.

Disgruntled with the other’s overestimation, Chanyeol whacked him. _“Actually—”_

“Hey, your birthday is soon, Baek?” Jongdae ignored him, as per usual.

Baekhyun nodded. “Yep. Why? Planning on something?” he grinned, eyes darting to Chanyeol’s face and eyebrows shooting up.

From across the game board, Minseok snorted. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he observed, juggling a pair of dice and smirking. “At least it would mean avenging our dignity.”

Chanyeol’s ears cocked at the statement.

Baekhyun laughed. “Honestly, you’re right.”

And then Chanyeol had an idea.


	6. chanyeol gets fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so... um... hi
> 
> i'm NOT dead, WOW!!! isn't that amazing???
> 
> anyway so i literally. forgot this fic existed (again) and wow i am not bothered to go through any of it... sorry lads
> 
> please enjoy what apparently, according to my editor and shitty memory, isn't? that bad?
> 
> i lost all of my notes so i dont think i'll be able to add the missing chapters after this except two jokey ones i wrote for fun... my sincerest apologies~
> 
> mayhaps one day i'll write a good exo fic... or not idk lmao
> 
> ANYGAYS

_Three weeks later._ Baekhyun’s birthday party.

PLANET’s new song _Lucky Nine_ was being blasted at full volume, the bass amplified and rumbling and thumping like Chanyeol’s heavy heartbeat—his ears cried out in pain, lungs throbbing and eyes watering and burning. The lead singer of PLANET, Junmyeon, usually sang delicately and gently, like a dainty nightingale, except now his voice resounded forcefully and pounded against the walls and made them quiver and sent Chanyeol’s body reeling with no direction. Blindly he fumbled for the couch, legs leaning and swinging, throngs of blurred bodies pushing past him and nearly knocking him to the ground—laughter, music, shrieking, crashing and the breaking of beer bottles. He didn’t remember getting drunk, didn’t remember ever coming into contact with any alcohol this evening apart from—apart from the plan. The plan—but where even was Byun Baekhyun, he wondered? He wondered, searching desperately and dizzily with one hand pressed tightly against his mouth as he gagged and coughed, eyes scanning the room which tilted and trembled.

Minseok and Jongdae were nowhere to be seen. He had no idea if Jongin and Kyungsoo had decided to come; couldn’t find them, either. No one nearby he recognised, not one student—not even any of Baekhyun’s stripper friends or hoe pals or modelling companions, and not a crown of golden silk to be seen anywhere in the crowd.

Suddenly he felt somebody’s hand slip into his and he yelped, opening his mouth to scream—yet no sound escaped him: he was being pulled somewhere, against his own will, legs jelly-like so he found he couldn’t cling onto the couch and rescue himself from being dragged away. He could hear distant chattering, whispering, no words, nothing distinct, only sounds and yelling and cheers and music—he was being tugged somewhere by somebody but he needed to find Baekhyun, needed to see if his plan had worked, needed to throw up, needed to—

And then Chanyeol was on a bed. And Chanyeol was naked. And not only that, but Chanyeol was, in fact, not alone, feeling some sort of weight somewhere on his stomach—someone, someone else was there too, on top of him. And this someone, he didn’t take too long to discover, was also naked.

The fuzzy thing on top of him moved slowly, tilting its—well, what was presumably a head, Chanyeol thought, although his eyes really weren’t helping him out all that much right now, vision hazy and the room sloping and waltzing, tiny splotches dotted about everywhere, expanding and twinkling like inky stars. For some reason he no longer felt like he was going to throw up, didn’t feel very sick or that bad at all; more like he was on a cloud, a great fluffy cloud of a bed—oh, right, _his_ bed—with a stranger, on his bed with someone he’d never met before but all of a sudden thought he felt a strange but strong attraction to, this mysterious but wonderful creature he could barely make out in the mist surrounding them, this wonderful creature who was … who was dragging his long and pale hand across his stomach, his bare stomach, fingers fluttering and trailing down as Chanyeol mewled faintly and his eyes clouded and drooped. Reaching his waist his hand refused to stop and instead dipped to cup his thigh, and the giant screeched, arching his back and breathing hard.

The body on top of him shook with laughter. “Relax, Dimples,” the boy chuckled, leaning backwards as some invisible source of light shed shine onto his golden halo of hair; his grin was crooked, genuine … familiar.

Chanyeol’s eyes snapped open.

_Dimples._

Straddling Chanyeol’s waist, Baekhyun who had yet to stop giggling rocked back and forth with his face glowing and daubed with sweat and mouth spread wide in a mischievous grin. He extended one arm and threaded his hand through his blonde locks (the other still tucked between the giant’s thighs), drawing Chanyeol’s attention to the fair head he had been trying to find for hours when suddenly he’d been dragged … away to some room … by somebody … by Baekhyun, it had been Baekhyun—he had been dragged away by none other than Byun Baekhyun himself.

Byun Baekhyun.

Byun Baekhyun, his roommate…

His _best friend_.

Byun Baekhyun, his roommate and his best friend, was naked, naked and on top of him, and he too was naked, and with Baekhyun’s hand rubbing at the inside of his thigh and lips parted and eyes glazed over and barely even fucking open and what the fuck was going on? Why couldn’t he move, why was he paralysed? _Get him off of you,_ his mind screamed, convulsing hysterically, jerking and juddering, _what are you doing? What are you fucking— Get! Him! Off! Of! You!_

But no, no—he didn’t want him off, he liked it, oh, fuck, he liked—he liked this, how Baekhyun’s fingers pressed into his skin and made small circles and then…

Chanyeol moaned, as Baekhyun’s hand left his thigh, lingering beneath his waist for a second, frozen—before he felt two hands plunge down and grasp at his erection (he had a _fucking erection_?), stroking it and simultaneously forcing a gasp to escape from his throat. Someone had lurched forwards because he felt their lips collide for a second and then Baekhyun exploded all over him, groaning and shoving his tongue into Chanyeol’s mouth, pulling desperately and frenziedly at his hair while he did the same to his (still embarrassingly obvious) erection.

He pulled at Chanyeol’s bottom lip with his teeth so hard the giant was sure he was going to tug them off completely; meanwhile, Chanyeol couldn’t do anything else but groan and bury his huge hands deep in the other’s little head of curls, panting and gasping into the other’s mouth and bucking upwards aggressively and pathetically into Baekhyun’s hand, striving to create even the slightest bit of friction, as the world around them started to spin again and turn a familiar shade of violet.

But then Chanyeol saw Baekhyun’s eyes mist, and the smaller withdrew, his body quivering and teeth gritting and back curved. “Dimples,” he managed to hear Baekhyun whimper, and without realising he had wrapped his arms around the other and flipped them over with caution, so that Byun Baekhyun was now naked and spread lavishly beneath him, face glossy and rosy and eyes half-lidded and mane wild and golden and lips plump and fleshy and so fucking _irresistible_ that Chanyeol couldn’t help it, couldn’t help himself anymore. He pressed down on the bed with his palms on either side of Baekhyun, who was breathing _so_ hard and it was driving him even crazier, and lowered his face so their foreheads grazed, and then, reaching out slowly and gently cupping his cheek, Chanyeol lowered his head to kiss the other, brushing their lips together lightly before letting their tongues intertwine again, deliberate and tender and tasting of shitty beer and rawness and rich caramel. Chanyeol grunted and brought their faces even closer together, then—grabbing a fistful of hair—he flipped Baekhyun to his stomach. The giant hovered over him, panting; his head felt heavy and his vision grew hazy.

“Go easy on me, Daddy,” Baekhyun smirked into the pillow that his face was squashed against, so Chanyeol was forced to suck in a breath, eyes squeezing shut and stomach tightening. His heart pounded in his chest and he raked a hand through his hair, a hand that wouldn’t stay still and vibrated against his throbbing skull. But then that hand dropped down and Baekhyun reached out in a flash and grabbed it—the giant gasped in surprise and held on tightly, firmly. Baekhyun gazed lustfully at Chanyeol as he passed his small pink tongue over his bottom lip slowly and agonisingly.

And before he could stop himself, Chanyeol inhaled deeply; and, submerged in violet, growled, before surging forwards.

Baekhyun’s startled, sharp cry sliced through the air like a knife, the room sent spiralling for a few seconds as Chanyeol pressed in and thrusted in and out, in and out, grunting and groaning at the feeling and at how exhilarated and electrified he felt as the other writhed beneath him, clutching at the sheets, whining and moaning. Chanyeol watched ravenously, his eyes slowly closing as he swelled forwards.

And then everything went out like a light.

                                   

 

“Dimples, I just realised.” Baekhyun pokes his head in front of Chanyeol’s sketchbook, blinking rapidly and expectantly and pouting. Chanyeol huffs and kicks him away. “Well, not just now. I was kinda thinking about this the whole day actually, but…” His eyes flash. “Did you know that ‘Daddy’ and ‘Dimples’ both start with the letter ‘D’? And you know what else—”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen and his lips curl. Shaking his head, he starts to crawl out of bed—but Baekhyun clings onto his leg and wails. “Hey, I wasn’t finished!”

“I don’t want to talk about dicks right now, Baekhyun.”

The toddler gripping his leg sticks out his tongue. “You think that’s what I was gonna talk about?”

“You mean, I _know_ that’s what you were going to talk about.” Baekhyun whines and batters the poor mattress beneath him with his fist; the sketchbook skids off the bed, and Chanyeol sighs as it sails through the air and settles on the ground dejectedly.

Baekhyun prods his leg. “Actually,” he huffs, “I was gonna say ‘Baekhyun’ and ‘Baby’ begin with the same letter too.”

“You weren’t going to—”

“Isn’t that cute? Couple names.” Baekhyun grins, tilting his head to the side and batting his eyelashes. His eyes sparkle. “Don’t you like it, Dimples?” he tries, licking his lips and pulling at his sleeve.

Chanyeol stares at him, for a long time, speechless. The fair-haired boy’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide and bright—sunny like his silky curls. His bottom lip juts out, fat and full and frustratingly inviting, oh, so fucking inviting—but his desperation and impatience is clear when he doesn’t even wait for the giant to be persuaded, mouth falling open and body dipping closer and hands reaching out to grip at Chanyeol’s chest and thigh, his leg lifting to curl around Chanyeol’s waist as he straddles him.

Before his hands can slink up to his face, Chanyeol reels back and heaves him away, eyes wide and head shaking rapidly as Baekhyun yelps and plummets to the ground beside the abandoned sketchbook.

Their eyes lock, and the quiet returns—only much colder now. And then it’s too much for Chanyeol, who—gasping for air in the suffocating silence—bends down to retrieve the sketchbook and hurries out of the room rapidly, avoiding Baekhyun’s crushed expression and blinking back panicked, terrified tears.

 

 

The next morning, Chanyeol awoke with a parade of elephants stomping on his head, immersed in the bright whitewash of morning in his dusty, dreary bedroom. He knuckled his eyes and groaned, sitting up in bed and beating his back with a fist as he stretched, wondering why he’d let himself get so drunk the night before— _the night before_.

His hands dropped to his sides.

Abruptly, his eyes began to burn.

There was no evidence surrounding him of what’d happened. No broken glass bottles on the ground; no pools of vomit; no littered clothing. He himself was dressed, although he couldn’t remember sleeping clothed. He rubbed at his temples and felt the pace of the blood in his veins speed up as it gushed about inside of him in the sweltering heat that spilled sweat down his forehead. He scrambled out of bed and cried out when the room whirled, pawing at the air and searching for something to grab onto. Gripping onto the bed frame, the giant squeezed his eyes shut as his legs wobbled, and—as it did the night before—the taste of nausea slowly oozed onto his tongue.

Baekhyun was propped against the table outside, swirling a spoon in a bowl of cereal leisurely and nonchalantly. Chanyeol stopped when he exited the room; breathed heavily. His head swam in a dense fog of perplexity and incredulousness and panic and fear. He swallowed—nearly gasped when Baekhyun flicked his eyes upwards.

But the smaller of the two only gave a small, lopsided smile before returning to his breakfast.

Chanyeol’s stomach tossed and turned. “Morning,” he tried, voice coarse and festooned with thorns—he winced at the sound of it, although Baekhyun didn’t seem to notice.

“Hi.”

No response at first. He stayed rigid and glued to the doorway of his bedroom for several moments, torn between fleeing back to his bed, confronting Baekhyun and his fears, and burying himself in a hole and staying there for eternity. The third option seemed the most appealing of the three but not exactly the best. Suddenly, he hated himself.

“Baek—” He stopped. Coughed.

Baekhyun’s eyes met his but this was unbearable: Chanyeol ripped his away immediately.

“Dimples?”

“Did we fuck last night?” Chanyeol blurted, then smacked his mouth with his hand, eyes bulging and heart shrieking in his chest and thrashing about hysterically as he fought for breath and his dignity.

Baekhyun blinked—deliberately, intentionally, methodically.

Then, at an even slower pace, a wide smile spread across his face, stretching gradually, illuminating it.

Several more seconds of embarrassed silence passed, until: “Maybe.”

Chanyeol spluttered. “ _Baek!_ I’m not joking, I mean it, Baek—”

“Man, that much of a panicked gay?”

_“What—”_

“You were drunk, chillax.”

“You were drunk too! Weren’t you?”

“Not as drunk as you.” Baekhyun beamed. Then his face dimmed and he frowned at Chanyeol’s gloomy expression. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_?” Chanyeol exploded, and Baekhyun flinched. “We—! We…” He gesticulated widely and desperately as Baekhyun frowned, his face vacant whilst Chanyeol’s was on fire.

“We?”

“You should’ve— You should’ve _told_ me.”

“Told you what?”

“You don’t just…” He gripped at his hair in irritation.

Baekhyun narrowed his eyes and stopped fishing around in his cereal with his spoon; it clattered against the wall of the bowl noisily. “Don’t just _what_?” he demanded, cocking a brow. But when Chanyeol could not succeed in any attempts to respond, he simply scowled and began to stab his spoon in his bowl, ducking his head down and muttering obscenities that made Chanyeol’s ears flare up and pinken. Finishing his breakfast quickly, he stood and stalked back to his bedroom to get dressed.

He didn’t bother wait for Chanyeol to follow him when he left for work.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Chanyeol had seen Baekhyun naked many times, countless times, before—that was a fact.

But the next time he had figure drawing, it was like seeing Baekhyun naked for the first time.

The only part of his assignment he hadn’t yet finished was the purple, the final stretch, but his eyes wouldn’t stop fluttering to Baekhyun’s pale back and taut muscles that he kept massaging and drawing his attention to; his hair that was messy and kept flopping onto his face, hair he kept pushing back impatiently and running his hands through the way Chanyeol had done _the night before_ ; eyelids that drooped over his dusky pupils. And whenever Chanyeol looked, he _looked_ —everywhere. Everywhere, on his face, stomach, thighs and everything in between … He swallowed and juddered and wished his hands weren’t so clammy and drenched in sweat because he was far beyond what the word “shaken” could even begin to describe, and couldn’t focus properly on the task. He stopped and started and stopped again, agitated and infuriated, begging Baekhyun to cease into nothing but dust as well as his repulsive, volatile thoughts; feeling his eyes burn and throat clog as lust ate into him, slowly—devoured him, swallowed him whole.

Without realising at first, his mouth dropped open as he groaned—then he widened his eyes in horror when Baekhyun gawked at him; his embarrassment was becoming such a problem for him that at last he forced himself to stand and cross the room to the other side (lying that he wanted to get other supplies), in desperate need of some space to himself.

Except, on the way there, he was stopped—by none other than Bae Joohyun, as per usual. “Hey, you okay?” she called out to him, gliding across the room with her brows furrowed and neon red lips pursed.

Chanyeol gritted his teeth but didn’t stop until he reached the furthest point in the room from Baekhyun. “I’m fine,” he muttered, refusing to look her in the eye as he spoke.

“You don’t look it.” She nodded her head in the direction of a certain someone Chanyeol, frankly, really didn’t want to be thinking about right now, not that Joohyun had gotten the hint yet. “You and your boyfriend had fun last night, eh?”

Chanyeol’s eyes bulged and he choked, nearly tripping over his feet. He whirled on her. “What makes you say that?” he challenged her venomously, rubbing furiously at his stinging ears and failing to stop his eyes from darting towards Baekhyun in the corner of the classroom.

Joohyun smirked. “You both have hickeys,” she answered simply, and to make it worse she gestured to his neck, which, sure enough, was bejewelled with numerous vivid, cherry red marks—and so was Baekhyun’s.

He could’ve slapped himself. His eyes had been fixed on the other for so long, he’d been distracted for so fucking long, and he hadn’t managed to spot those humungous hickeys? They were so mortifyingly obvious—how had he missed them? And was Joohyun the only person in the class who’d noticed? She couldn’t have been, judging by how many swathed both of their necks … and their _size_.

Frantically he searched the room for any enquiring faces—receiving one almost instantly when Jongin caught him and gave him a thumbs-up and wink. At first, Chanyeol assured himself it was only encouragement regarding the “exception” … until he started to excitedly stab a finger in Baekhyun’s direction, so that the giant felt himself rapidly deflate.

When the giant returned, Baekhyun startled Chanyeol by drawling, “What about the sugar paper?” He tilted his head, leaning against Chanyeol’s station with his legs spread unapologetically.

Chanyeol jerked his head away and gulped. “They ran out,” he mumbled, except it was then that—from where she was still standing, far away but apparently not far enough—Joohyun waved in the air an enormous stack of paper with surprising (and infuriating) enthusiasm, smirking and winking.

Baekhyun sniggered; cocked his head. “Suddenly, I like that girl,” he remarked, and for no reason at all that he could comprehend Chanyeol choked in the darkness surrounding him whilst his ears stung.

The sound of the teacher clearing her throat interrupted their conversation and Chanyeol’s head snapped to the side, eyes wide as his teacher gestured to their stations, beaming. She explained that the deadline for the assignments was in only a few days; and after submitting them, their artworks would be judged and the creators of the top three would be invited to the exhibition—where the winner would be revealed. Listening to this made Chanyeol dizzy and breathless; he wrung his hands together and, naturally, his eyes slid to meet Baekhyun’s, which glittered vaguely.

His stomach tightened.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Again, Baekhyun ignored Chanyeol. At first the giant was thankful—he still couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t understand or decipher his muddled and blustery thoughts and feelings, couldn’t cope in Baekhyun’s presence. But without Baekhyun’s noisy laughter and unnecessary (mostly physical) intimacy and blinding beams, Chanyeol could relax; keep calm; start picking up the pieces of his disordered self strewn all over the floor.

When the deadline arrived, he handed in his work with his stomach in knots and mind in a turmoil and heart clenched—like a tight, iron fist. He found himself fighting for oxygen, lungs scrunched and eyes so misty he nearly tripped over his feet struggling back to his station—or perhaps it was from the nerves. Or both.

“You did it,” Baekhyun muttered when he collapsed into his seat—and uttered no words before or after this measly acknowledgment until several days later.

With Jongdae’s long fingers wrapped around his tiny pinkie, Minseok hummed words of encouragement as well as instructions for Chanyeol’s first ever exhibition in a monotonous, sombre drawl. The giant bounced up and down excitedly on Minseok’s bed, got up when Minseok reprimanded him for crumpling the covers, paced around for a while, then dropped back down when Minseok glowered again at him for muddying his usually unspoiled carpet: there was a storm raging outside; a multitude of raindrops thumped against the only window in the room, the sound of their furious pattering almost deafening—Baekhyun jumped a little at a sudden crash of thunder, forcing Chanyeol’s eyes to dart to his small, hunched figure in the centre of the room, but he otherwise kept impressively still and unresponsive as the lightning danced and teased. Whilst Minseok persisted in rattling off key details, Chanyeol’s thoughts persisted in whizzing about in a frenzy, hands wobbly and constantly twisting through his hair as he breathed heavily and happily, almost wheezing.

“God, you look like a—like a bloody insane person,” Jongdae snorted, eyes detaching from the cracked screen of his phone displaying what looked like … uh. Well … Chanyeol didn’t want to know who those nudes belonged to all of a sudden, recognising some _particular_ features … quite instantly. And regrettably.

But that didn’t matter right now, didn’t matter at all—because something else, something else that was far more important, something astounding, was taking up every single inch of Chanyeol’s mind, every centimetre, every nanometre, and that was the incredible realisation that _he was in the top three_. He had succeeded, he’d done it! He had succeeded, he had finally, finally succeeded.

“Did I do well?” he blurted, unable to contain his pride, his eagerness, his glee. Hopping up and down, he smiled shyly at Minseok, who paused, pursed his lips—which took a while to extend into a small, satisfied smirk.

“You did very well,” Minseok nodded, this simple agreement painting a wide, glossy grin onto Chanyeol’s damp, glowing face—as well as sending millions of fireworks rocketing inside of his stomach.

That was, until, Baekhyun decided to intervene. His nose crinkled and lips curled as he cleared his throat loudly, eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough,” he jeered, then scoffed when Jongdae made a surprised and offended noise. “What? I mean, didn’t his teacher always butter him up back when he was too frigid to try out figure drawing, told him he had all that potential and whatever? Heh, not that he isn’t that frigid still—”

“Eh? Baek, what the f—” Jongdae swallowed the word with a painful choke, blinking rapidly as he ogled the fair-haired boy in shock and bewilderment. “That isn’t even—it isn’t even, doesn’t even, what? How does that even _relate_ —”

“It does,” Baekhyun severed his protests without missing a beat, the veins in his neck visible and convulsing unremittingly as he rose and glared at Chanyeol from across the room. His chest heaved and hands shook. “Yes, it does. It fucking does, it does,” he repeated, again and again, voice thick and congested, shaking his head irately and turning on his heel to stalk out of the room.

Chanyeol’s eyes widened as they chased after the other’s retreating figure, throat bone-dry and the army of thoughts in his head transforming drastically: All of a sudden, the memories of _the night before_ came back in a blurry yet frightfully vivid attack on his senses—the taste of beer on Baekhyun’s lips; the sight of their tangled bodies; Baekhyun’s head between his legs; the intoxicating smell of sweat and sex, the _feel_ of it; Baekhyun’s fingers in places he’d wanted him near for so long … he’d wanted, _he wanted_.

He wanted.

Chanyeol’s eyes snapped open.

Leaping to his feet, he hurtled after Baekhyun without casting a second glance to the Married Couple—heart racing, blood surging—zipping down the long flight of stairs and in the direction of the next building, where their dorm was. His feet pounded against the cold, soaked concrete as the rain falling around him drenched him too, from head to toe, as he ran faster than he ever had before. By the time he reached the door, he was out of breath and his entire body was aching and scorching.

Arriving at his bedroom, Chanyeol came to a halt, failing to mask the smirk that slid onto his face when he found Baekhyun exactly where he knew he would be: standing right in front of Chanyeol’s bed. The two boys gazed at each other for the longest time in the tender silence that followed, chests rising and falling like two tides in sync; Chanyeol’s eyes half-lidded and Baekhyun’s narrowed; Chanyeol’s head lowered and Baekhyun’s chin lifted.

At last, Baekhyun opened his mouth to speak—but Chanyeol didn’t even give him the slightest chance to begin, rushing forwards and shoving the other onto his bed, crawling onto him with his back already arched and a low growl emitting from his throat involuntarily. Baekhyun’s moan was loud, louder than the rain splashing against the windowpanes, louder than Chanyeol’s thunderous heartbeat—loud enough it tugged at Chanyeol’s dick which quickly became unbearably hard and sore, too unbearable the giant was itching to rip off his trousers completely. His hands shot forwards and knotted in Baekhyun’s hair as their lips locked, tongues swirling, dancing the Viennese Waltz one thousand times over. In a haste, Baekhyun wrapped his legs around his lower back and Chanyeol lifted him up in the air, panting into his mouth and almost yanking his precious golden curls from his scalp while the other groaned and squeaked.

“Hey, are you guys o— _oh_ ,” a vaguely familiar voice suddenly sounded from behind, forcing a scream from both boys as they repelled from each other instantly, Chanyeol tumbling off the bed and Baekhyun diving beneath the covers.

A mortified silence filled the air: After a few moments of quivering in a heap on the ground, Chanyeol lifted his head and met the eyes of none other than Kim Jongin, who looked sheepish as well as mildly shaken—yet, more than anything, greatly amused. “I, er, didn’t mean to—uh, intrude?” He covered his mouth, as though attempting to stifle a snigger. Chanyeol rolled his eyes. “Well—your door was open—”

“Wouldn’t have hurt to just close it!” Baekhyun exclaimed, bursting out from underneath the duvet and sending an accusatory glare in Chanyeol’s direction. He pouted at Jongin, who raised an eyebrow. “Instead of—instead of…”

“We weren’t expecting anyone,” Chanyeol mumbled, hoping the pink smudging his cheeks wasn’t too noticeable.

“No, clearly not,” Do Kyungsoo chimed in, poking his head into the room. He reached out and grabbed Jongin’s arm, shaking his head and gesturing. Like his boyfriend, his eyes did not meet Chanyeol’s or Baekhyun’s, fastened to his feet—except, he appeared to be struggling to keep his lips pressed together in a thin line, the corners wobbling upwards. “Carry on—excuse us for interrupting,” he aimed to sound offhand, giving Jongin a sidelong glance before tugging him outside and shutting the door firmly behind them.

The sound of their muffled giggling made both Chanyeol and Baekhyun flush with embarrassment.

“That was—er,” Chanyeol spoke up finally, attempting to meet Baekhyun’s gaze but without success.

Baekhyun bit his lip and smiled, timidly, which was very unlike him, and kind of cute—Chanyeol had to admit.

He blushed harder.

“We should, uh, lock the door next time,” Baekhyun stammered, then slapped a hand over his mouth when he realised what he had meant by that—Chanyeol doing the same.

Lock the door, next time.

Next time.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

At first, kissing Baekhyun felt like a thousand fireworks exploding against the jet black sky, filling the giant’s world with intense, vibrant colour. Like two waves crashing against each other and interlacing. Like claps of thunder in a violet, violent storm. Then it began to feel a bit like a clarification—as though every kiss was Chanyeol clarifying that he loved him. Clarifying that he wanted him. Clarifying that Baekhyun meant the world to him, and not platonically. Clarifying that he liked dick. Clarifying that he liked Baekhyun’s dick.

But that didn’t feel so good. Of course it didn’t; and it also made Chanyeol feel as though he needed to be assured, and that Baekhyun did, too. So, no, that wasn’t as nice at all.

And then came the stage where it wasn’t so much desire or the need for reassurance the fuelled these kisses—rather, habit. A sweet one, though. A nice habit. Not like waking up and brushing your teeth or having breakfast out of habit—more like, habits such as stretching out your arms for a hug or giving your pet a kiss every morning.

But more than that.

So, so much more.

The Married Couple—Jongdae in particular—seemed extremely, sort of awkwardly, pleased with the pair’s newly defined relationship. Minseok only gave little smiles every now and then, or leaned in to whisper into Jongdae’s ear when he caught the two blushing at each other; while Jongdae, on the other hand, had much more explosive reactions.

The first time he walked in on them kissing (the fact that the Married Couple had spare keys meant locking the door was sometimes a worthless decision), his jaw came unhinged and smacked against the ground, remaining there permanently whilst the two hastily endeavoured to explain themselves. They’d meant to announce their new relationship status a while ago, but hadn’t quite come around to it, and thus getting caught was a petrifying, peculiar and panicky experience for all of them.

After recovering from the shock, Jongdae’s face went through a series of emotions, curling up from shock to perplexity, then stretching out with realisation, and—finally—glowing with an excitement that escalated until he began to jitter and bounce. _“Finally!”_ he screamed, so loudly both the other boys jumped. “Fucking finally! _Finally!_ Oh my fucking god, finally—!” he continued to screech, leaping onto Chanyeol first and shaking him hard before throwing himself at Baekhyun and knocking the fair-haired boy to the ground, all the while cheering and practically strangling the poor thing.

Minseok took the news in a far less alarming manner, grinning and clapping Chanyeol on the back before nodding amiably in Baekhyun’s direction. “You did it, kid,” he drawled, though Chanyeol had no idea what that was supposed to mean. His eyes slid towards Baekhyun’s and he halted his gaze when he noticed the other was also watching him, eyes sparkling and glazed. Then they both cracked identical, lopsided smiles together and looked away—Jongdae, cued by this exchange, squealed for the billionth time with glee, pouncing onto Baekhyun once more.

Although, Chanyeol had to admit, the Sunflower wasn’t really as volatile these days, having begun to simmer down around a week after they’d gotten caught—but, occasionally, they were still obliged to stuff a fist up his mouth to prevent him from shattering every window in the entire building.

“Gosh, I’d better be the—the best man at the wedding though,” Jongdae hiccupped, sniggering when the two boys flushed violently and twisted their heads. He waved his bottle of beer in Minseok’s face, still giggling, whilst Minseok stared back vacantly. “Eh? But, oh, whose best man? How do—” He rubbed a finger exaggeratedly against his chin, like he was trying to scrape the skin off completely, pretending to ponder. “How do gay weddings—even work?”

“You’re going to be having one of your own, excuse me,” Minseok spoke up for the other two, who were too tongue-tied to reply. Jongdae blinked rapidly, noticing the jagged edge in Minseok’s tone and unimpressed expression.

But he was too drunk to take a hint. “Jeez, sorry ’bout that,” he snorted, immediately descending into hysteria—whooping and hooting and guffawing, clutching at his stomach and rocking back and forth as Minseok bit his lip.

It was a rare sight: only half the Married Couple drunk out of their mind, whilst the other stayed sour and sober. But this was a one-off, an exception—because tomorrow morning, Chanyeol was going to wake up at seven and, with Baekhyun in the passenger seat, make his way not to work, but the location of the one thing that had been occupying his mind since he’d gotten the invitation:

The exhibition.

This evening had been scheduled as a celebration and opportunity to wish Chanyeol luck—and, in Minseok’s case, offer guidance (thus, he strived to remain sober in order fulfil his duty properly).

But as the night began to unfold, Chanyeol found himself too nervous and nauseated to even glance at any cans of beer in front of him; and Baekhyun, noticing the effect it was having on Jongdae, chose to keep his distance also.

Now Jongdae was searching the boys’ faces with intent, waving his bottle about and stroking his chin again. He stopped only to stab the bottle in Chanyeol’s direction, cocking his head to the side. Wiggling his eyebrows, he teased, “How’re you gonna hold up with someone like Baek though? Dude, you’re quite—quite brave, huh?”

Baekhyun narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he demanded, face contorting even more when his words seemed only to delight the other.

 _“What am I talking about?”_ Jongdae howled, tossing his head back and convulsing with his booming laughter. Baekhyun shuddered. “Well, you and sex aren’t exactly strangers, eh, pal?”

Everyone in the room except Jongdae tensed.

Slowly, Baekhyun met the madman’s eyes. “What did you say?”

“I mean, come on—” He was looking at Chanyeol now, Chanyeol, who was rooted to the spot, mouth wide, face blanched, eyes glossy—heart thumping, barely. “Come on, dude, we all know what Baek’s like, eh?”

“What I’m _like_?”

“Gee, you’re really saddling yourself with that? That’s hilarious, bro, really—I mean, good luck with that, seriously—”

“Shut up,” Baekhyun snarled, face red and hands shaking.

“Hey, don’t be like that.” Jongdae furrowed his brows, far too drunk to register what he was doing—far too drunk to register anything. Looking abnormally alarmed, Minseok reached out to pull him back—but he jerked away with ease, sneering. “C’mon, you’re just gonna deny it? If I were you, Chanyeol—”

“Shut _up_ —” Baekhyun grabbed at his sleeve and tore it until the hole reached his shoulder.

“—wouldn’t even bother, I mean, he’s too much for you, isn’t he, kid? Sleeping around, broke ass—a mess, dude! Baek, man, fix up! Can’t imagine, _seriously_ , can’t _imagine_ how much Chanyeol’s gonna regret—”

“Shut up—I fucking told you to shut the _fuck up_!” Baekhyun roared—and the entire room stilled.

Amidst the thick, stifling silence, he stood quaking in the centre of the room, eyes a pair of slits, hands fisted and raised—towering over Jongdae, who’d shrunk backwards and ducked his head down in terror. “Baekhyun,” the other whispered, voice trembling, eyes glued to his feet. “I didn’t— I’m so sorry, man, I didn’t mean—”

“I told you to _shut up_.” He spat out the words as though his tongue were a knife.

Jongdae recoiled.

The fair-haired boy lowered his head, deflating slightly. “Come on, Dimples,” he muttered, turning without waiting for a response.

“Baek? Baek, wait—”

“Baekhyun,” Minseok spoke up.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Baek?”

“I _said_ , don’t _talk_ to me,” Baekhyun repeated, loudly, shaking his head faster as he hastened out of the room.

Chanyeol blinked rapidly. He glanced at the Married Couple’s stunned expressions, and, biting his lip, hurried after the other, almost immediately finding him crumpled in the corner of the corridor.

 _You and sex aren’t exactly strangers, eh?_ Jongdae’s words echoed in his mind. He winced.

Baekhyun lifted his head and their eyes locked. “Are you okay?” the fair-haired boy asked him gently, eyes no longer flaming but silver and smooth.

The giant took a deep breath. Funny it was him asking, and not the other way around. His stomach heaved slightly. “Yeah. Fine. You?”

Baekhyun shook his head. “Okay. I guess,” he muttered.

And then both fell silent and stayed that way.

 

⚅ ⚀ ⚃

 

Baekhyun’s body was curled; head tucked. He clutched at where a river of gold poured from his chest and gushed over the violet encompassing his small, precious figure in the centre of the canvas. He looked small; elegant; delicate. Precious.

Chanyeol couldn’t believe it was his piece that was on display.

Chanyeol couldn’t believe he had done it.

Chanyeol couldn’t believe he had won.

The moment he recognised what was being shown at the exhibition—the moment he realised who had won first place—he found himself fixed to the spot, mouth dropping open and eyes widening as his legs trembled. It was his sculpture of Baekhyun situated before him, and the second he spotted it his body swelled and deflated at the same time; felt full and empty; felt victorious and numb.

First to congratulate him was Jongin, winking from a few metres away where the rest of the models stood and giving him a proud thumbs-up. Nearby, Kyungsoo nodded, face radiant, a wide smile plastered across his face.

And then it was Baekhyun’s turn to barrel into him, both yelping as they tumbled to the ground in a heap. Chanyeol’s ears flamed but the other didn’t seem to notice, cooing and cheering as he tried to wrap his short arms around the other in a fond, desperate hug. “You did it, Dimples!” he hooted, refusing to release the giant from his feeble yet passionate grip and instead choosing to attack his face with kisses.

The group collectively groaned at the spectacle, turning away or shielding their eyes—but although he was, obviously, embarrassed, Chanyeol couldn’t help but feel the happiest he’d ever felt in his life in that very moment, enveloped in Baekhyun’s arms and inhaling his soothing strawberry scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. so. gosh. anyway.


	7. jongdae needs to fuck off (a series of text messages)

**baconTHOT:** give me park chanyeol’s address and ill send minseok dick pics

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** how do u have minseok dick pics

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** wait nvm

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** how much for all of them

 **baconTHOT:** 50k won

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** deal

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** soooooooooooooo how’d it go

 **baconTHOT:** not sure what ur talkin about

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** park Chanyeol

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** did u fuck

 **baconTHOT:** that aint my objective actually

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** are u drunk?

 **baconTHOT:** very funny

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** no, seriously

 **baconTHOT:** am I that much of a slut?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** nO I just meant

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** alright fiNe then

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** hi is this byun baekhyuns boyfriends number

 **yoda:** His roommate’s number…?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** same thing

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** the plural wasn’t accidental btw

 **yoda:** ‘Byun Baekhyuns’?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …no

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** boyfriendS

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** can’t believe u let the dude stay u gonna regret it soon trust me

 **yoda:** He’s my cousin

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** actually, according to your little cover story or whatever ur just friends

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** nd according to baek ur friends with benefits

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** but according to Minseok theres no way that’s true

 **yoda:** Kim Minseok??

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** my boyfriend, yes

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** oh yea

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** im the radiant sun baekhyun introduced you to

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** if u hadn’t already guessed

 **yoda:** I figured

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** oh aight

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** see you around

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** and gl

 **yoda:** Uh…okay?

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ur not serious

 **baconTHOT:** wat did i do now

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OH. SEHUN.

 **baconTHOT:** oh my god not this again

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** WHAT ARYEIOU

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** DIPSTICK

 **baconTHOT:** thnx im tearing up over here

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** how many times???? Do I have to TELL YOU

 **baconTHOT:** zero yet u keep telling me anyway

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ur not serious,

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** you CANT be serious about faking an illness and lying to oh sehun and making him tell his sister who’s in charge of the dorms???

 **baconTHOT:** oof did u say all that in one breath

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** bAEK

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** bb

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** bb

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** bb u dead

 **iceprincess:** Did you take my phone and change my username?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** I think baek likes his elf roommate

 **iceprincess:** …

 **iceprincess:** Not to be sarcastic, sweetheart, but no shit, Sherlock.

 

 

 **yoda:** So um, how many boyfriends does Baekhyun have exactly??

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** lmfaoooooooooo

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** zero br0

 **yoda:** What?? What do you mean?

 **yoda:** wait

 **yoda:** …oh.

 **yoda:** I see

 

 

 **iceprincess:** This username might be growing on me.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** lol wow, how enthusiastic !!1!!1

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** bb???

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** hey sweetie I was just joking with u

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** you know that right????

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ha ha was that just me or was that the door

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** oh hel

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ELS A

 **yoda:** Huh?

 **yoda:** oH YEAH WAIT THE CODE

 **yoda:** DON’T DIE IM COMING TO SAVE YOU 1 MIN

 

 

 **baconTHOT:** is dimples phone out of battery

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ye

 **baconTHOT:** ok give him ur phone rn

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** wat why

 **baconTHOT:** give him the phone dickwad n ill help with ur new single or whtver

 **dinosaur_sunshine:**.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ugh fINe

 **baconTHOT:** Dimples~

 **baconTHOT:** Make sure to get home safely and bring some nice ramyun for the two of us~~

 **baconTHOT:** Love you~~

 **baconTHOT:** (♥ω♥ ) ~♪

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** Dude

 **baconTHOT:** fuckbucket oi i told u to give the phone to him u cunt

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** Um…it is me…

 **baconTHOT:** …

 **baconTHOT:** （°o°；）

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek is telling me I have a choking kink

 **iceprincess:** You do.

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** wanna help promote my new single

 **yoda:** You mean a shitty recording of you singing in the shower?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** the water is for the emotional effect u bitch

 **yoda:** You sound like Baek

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ahem ahem obsessed much

 **yoda:** IM NOT WTF

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** junmyeon from PLANET is so frickin hot I’d bang tbh

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** sugar daddy material amirite

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** omg wait pls don’t tell my bb I said this pls pls pls

 **baconTHOT:** lol

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** BAEK HAVE MERCY

 **baconTHOT:** screenshotted n sent

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** BYUN BAEKHYUN WHY

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** did we really have a threesome

 **yoda:** I’m sorry

 **dinosaur_sunshine:**.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ah

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** well

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** better you then baek I guess

 **yoda:**.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** plus he’s urs

 **yoda:** N

 **yoda:** NO

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OH SEHUN???????

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** IS THAT

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** WHY ARE YOU WALKING AORUND TALKIMG TO OH SEHUN OMG

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OH FRICKING SEHUN

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** YOU

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ANSWE R ME OM

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OMG

 **baconTHOT:** holy shit chill your fucking pussy bro my phone just buzzed like mad

 **baconTHOT:** and yes it is oh sehun now shut the fuck up oh my god

 **baconTHOT:** also wtf where r u how can u see me r u like stalking or some shit omg

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** WHY ARE YOU PLAYING AROUND WITH OH SEHUN YOU IDIOT OH MY GOD D HOU HAVE A DESTH WISH

 **baconTHOT:** CHILL oh my god

 **baconTHOT:** im putting this on silent go talk to somebody bored enough wherever the fuck u are jesus christ

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** BAEK DON’T YOU DARE

 

 **baconTHOT:** is ur aunt hiring

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** in your DREAMS boi

 **baconTHOT:** wow thnx for the support

 

 

 **baconTHOT:** dinosaur r u there

 **baconTHOT:** im such a shitty person

 **baconTHOT:** im such a fucking shitty person

 **baconTHOT:** i cant believe how fucked up i am

 **baconTHOT:** r u there???? please man

 **baconTHOT:** i fucking hate myself i hate myself i hate everything oh my god

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek??

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baekhyun oh my god are u okay???

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** is ur phone off??

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** hello?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** im calling chanyeol

 

 

 **baconTHOT:** do u think im fat

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** I think ur full of shit

 **baconTHOT:** ill take that as a yes

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** LUCKY NINE CAME OUT LUCKY NINE CAME OUT LUCKY NINE CAME OUT

 **baconTHOT:** i don’t care

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** HOLY SHIT THEIR HAIR OHMY GOD THEY LOOKS O GOOD THE VCOALS WHAT THE FUCK IM IN TEARS

 **baconTHOT:** shut up dude i dont have time to listen to u nuttin over planet

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **baconTHOT:** what

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **baconTHOT:** yo whAT

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ……

 **baconTHOT:** what

 **baconTHOT:** oh

 **baconTHOT:** Oh

 **baconTHOT:** not again man for fucks

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** who are planet??? planet??? all in lowercase?????

 **baconTHOT:** jesus christ ur so fucking

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** i only know PLANET, the gods the legends the inventors of music but not planet

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** hey wait

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** U BLOCKED ME SJSJSJJSJDJD ILL GET YOU FOR THIS YOU DESERVED A LECTURE YOU BRAT

 **baconTHOT:** are you

 **baconTHOT:** nope not done

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** byun baeKHYUN

 

 

 **yoda:** Baek keeps asking me if my parents are hiring what about you?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** lmaooooooo

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** get a job u thot

 **baconTHOT:** IM FUFKCING TRYUNG

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** to learn how to spell?

 **baconTHOT:** shut the fuck up motherfuc

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** not gonna say I told u so

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** but I WARNED YOU DUMB CHILD

 **baconTHOT:** thats the worst insult yet oh my god

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** sehun gonna be bothering u forever now bc u didn’t leave the poor kid alone

 **baconTHOT:** a kid with a dick that size?????

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** …

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** i’m blocking you

 **baconTHOT:** lmao we both know you love me too much to do that <333

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** -_-

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** did u fuck yet

 **baconTHOT:** im mad at him

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** y r u mad???

 **baconTHOT:** none of ur business

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** also soz we got cum on the sheets

 **baconTHOT:** u did WHAT

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** calm down dude

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** it was an accident

 **baconTHOT:** I told you to PRETEND to fuck not ACTUALLY FUCK

 **baconTHOT:** you got your dirty jizz on CHANYEOL’S BED

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** it’s nATURAL OKAY

 **baconTHOT:** SEX WASN’T PART OF THE PLAN, PRETEND SEX WAS YOU DUMB

 **baconTHOT:** dumb fucker omfg

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** um

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** soooooooo

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** any idea how to clean it up?

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek

 **baconTHOT:** wat

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** is my kitten at your place

 **baconTHOT:** ur wat

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** where the heck is minseok

 **baconTHOT:** idk

 **baconTHOT:** but u woke me up

 **baconTHOT:** bitch

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** baek i’m freaking out idk where he is

 **baconTHOT:** good luck finding him

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** BAEK

 **baconTHOT:** dood he’ll find his way back jeez calm ur tits

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** oh

 **baconTHOT:** omfg WHAT.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** nvm

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** found him

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** he was sleeping.

 **baconTHOT:** .

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** thnx for the help

 **baconTHOT:** fuck off

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** you WHAT

 **baconTHOT:** what now

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** YOU KNW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT

 **baconTHOT:** no. i don’t

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** BAEK WHAT THE FUC

 **baconTHOT:** WHAT

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** YOU HAD SEX IN ART CLASS???????

 **baconTHOT:** …

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OH MY

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** GOD

 **baconTHOT:** technically

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** OH MY GOD BAEK

 **baconTHOT:** it was gr8 tho

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** yoU

 **baconTHOT:** I, yes

 **baconTHOT:** hes a better fuck than i expected tbh

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** this isn’t how I imagined

 **baconTHOT:** ew

 **baconTHOT** : you imagined?

 **baconTHOT:** that’s..kinda weird bro

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** NOT LIKE THAT

 **baconTHOT:** lmao then like wat

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** u got fired?

 **baconTHOT:** yh

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** wow

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** gl now pal

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** ur screwed, high school dropout

 **baconTHOT:** wow u srsly don’t know how shut the fuck up do u?

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** and u don’t even know how to keep it in ur pants

 **baconTHOT:** ♪(ﾟ▽^*)ﾉ⌒☆

 **dinosaur_sunshine:**.

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** weirdo

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** n u lost your apartment lmaoooooo

 **baconTHOT:** for the love of god stfu u annoying bitch

 

 

 **dinosaur_sunshine:** finished work now honey see u soon <33

 **iceprincess** : <3


	8. minseok uses proper grammar (a series of text messages)

**yoda:** hi sorry if ur busy but if ur not busy um should i sculpt with rock or clay it’s okay if ur busy btw i just wanted to know anyway thank you

 **iceprincess:** Did you just take thirty minutes to type that out?

 **yoda:** …did you just spend the whole thirty minutes watching me type it out?

 **iceprincess:** I’ve got a lot of time on my hands.

 **iceprincess:** And other things in my hands.

 **yoda:** …I’m not sure I wanted to know that

 

 

 **baconTHOT:** this is kinda awkward but like do u knw how to cook

 **iceprincess:** Excuse me?

 **baconTHOT:** yh erm

 **baconTHOT:** i kinda wanna

 **baconTHOT:** nvm

 **iceprincess:** Alright.

 

 

 **baconTHOT:** bb u were so good last night ;)

 **iceprincess:** I think you’ve got the wrong number, kid.

 **baconTHOT:** （＊〇□〇）…！

 

 

 **iceprincess:** ive been touching myself for an hour babe where tf r u

 **yoda:** IS THIS KIM MINSEOK OR DO I HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLAD THAT'S OVER I NEVER WANT TO SEE THIS TRASH THING AGAIN!


End file.
